


Snow and Other Four Letter Words

by ManyManyMonsters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Caretaking, EMT!Bucky, Even blue collar Tony Stark is an ass., GrumpyHermit!Bucky, Hurt/Comfort, Look I just wanted to write some mushy care taking fluff for Christmas, M/M, Please imagine a lot of plaid flannel, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Snowed In, Standard Brock is an a-hole umbrella, Timber Lodge aesthetic, sue me., writer!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-09-26 17:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManyManyMonsters/pseuds/ManyManyMonsters
Summary: Going away to a remote mountain cabin to get your writing done is fine in theory.  But man, does it suck for dating. You know, if you're into that sort of thing.





	1. Chapter 1

The snow was coming down. Sticky flakes clung together so they fell straight almost like rain.  It had been doing it off and on all morning, but after lunch it seemed to make up its mind to fill the mountainside, the rock crags and every road and deer path. Aspen branches held miniature white walls of it until a change of wind or a flitting bird toppled them into the deep growing blanket below.

James checked the well line, salted the path to the shed, and brought the dogs in along with several more cords of wood.  The cabin had central heat and an emergency generator besides, but keeping a fire going fulfilled some caveman-like desire in the writer, and besides, the dogs loved to lay in front of it.

As he dumped the wood by the hearth, he heard the crackle and hiss of his short wave.

“Barnes, you there? Over?” It was Sam at the parks service office.

“Copy that. I’m here.”

“What’s your weather like there?”

“Buncha white stuff. It’s cold too. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Over.”

“Funny. Listen, I’ve got a situation here.  Upper park trails had a small avalanche and a group of hikers were just picked up missing a guy. FM 15 and the park roads closed — impassible. I’ve got a snowmobile patrol going in from below —“

“You want me to look around top side?”

“You still have those yeti like creatures you call dogs?”

Barnes smirked. “I’m afraid so.”

 

 

Gloved, masked and thoroughly bundled, James Barnes cranked the weathered snowmobile to life, flanked by his two mottled large hairy dogs.  The mostly black one, Turk, was a malamute mix with one spooky looking almost white, blue eye. The other, Deedee, was a white ocean of fur with a black nose on one end.  Possibly Pyranese or sheepdog, or maybe polar bear.  The dogs found Barnes when he moved to the property, most likely dumped like a lot of large dogs on country roads for the crime of  outgrowing their puppyhood and reaching their full unwieldy size. Anyway, he hadn’t asked them their family history. 

Hearing the machine crank to life, the dogs whined and raced after it.

Sam told him the hikers got separated from their missing companion around the Witch’s Knuckle, a rock archway near one of the switchbacks of a park hiking trail closest to the edge of James’s territory.  They thought he had wandered north of where the avalanche had covered the trail.

Right. 

That was a more hopeful thought than him being under the avalanche’s new sheet of snow. 

He shook his head to banish the thought.  It was one thing to do an impromptu turn as a park ranger’s search and rescue and another to actually discover smothered or cold remains. 

He didn’t fault the hikers. Snow was unpredictable and disorienting. Earlier today it would have been easy to assume at its morning pace the trails would stay clear enough for visibility. And he was no expert either. Just a sci-fi writer who’d had to learn to deal with winters after he fell in love with a cabin in the woods.  At some point, his inexperience could easily put him in a similar situation and if it did, he only hoped Sam would be on hand to coordinate finding him.

Approaching where the top of Witch’s Knuckle could be seen through the trees, James slowed, and idled the snowmobile.  At his whistle, the dog’s raced past him, and he could hear them whine from the undergrowth.  He wandered a widening circle around the vehicle and called into the woods, but there was no sign of anyone. Remounting, he slowly drove further up the mountain in the direction of the rock formation, until he saw the smooth expanse of deep white blotting out the familiar trail. Broken tree branches stuck out of the ocean of snow like thin black bones and James drove uphill, taking the snowmobile in a series of small tight back and forth turns to help it climb above the avalanche field.

Higher up the trees grew more sparse. There were grey cliff faces, toppled stone plus small overhangs and caves: plenty of things to conceal a hiker or distort and muffle sounds. Again, Barnes killed the bike and wandered on foot, whistling for the dogs to check in.

“Hello?  Hello! Turk! Deedee! Here!”

The snow was still falling heavily, making the late afternoon already dim as twilight. James was liking this errand less and less… He knew Sam was getting air support — it wasn’t all on him to find this guy. But with the weather and lack of visibility, how could they have any luck?

“Turk! Deedee! Where the hell are you?”

The black malamute ran out of the rocks and raced around him before whining and dashing off.

Awkward in the deep snow, James hurried after him.

 

 

Deedee was crouched on her belly, ass sticking out of a snow covered crevice in the rock.  Her tail wagged, which allayed Barnes’ dread somewhat as he began to tug her out. “Hello? Anyone in there? Jesus girl. I hope you didn’t just roust out a skunk.”

Yanking the whining dog aside and crouching low, James peered into the hollow. 

And could see a pair of glassy blue eyes and a pale, dog-licked face looking back. “Please…”

James blinked in surprise, then made his voice steady and gentle. “Hey there. Let’s get you outa there.” He reached in, offering a hand.

The hiker didn’t look too good. As much as James could see in the dark crevice, he was coiled on his side, huddled for warmth. The hand he stretched out was slow and shaky.

Dropping to his belly, James wriggled closer, reaching in both arms to grip the guy around the chest and tug him free.

The hiker didn’t resist. He even feebly grasped James sleeves, but when his body shifted, he let out an animal cry of pain.

Startled, Barnes reacted without thinking, yanking him the rest of the way into the failing light, a tangle of winter layers and backpack still strapped on him.

The hiker was small, maybe half Barnes’ size. He was panting shallowly, eyes squinting slits that streamed tears. 

“Easy, easy. I’m sorry. It’s your leg?” James shoved the hovering Turk back, watching the smaller man’s face anxiously.

A trembling nod.

“Okay. Hang tight.”

 

By the time James had bound the hiker’s leg in a splint, the smaller man had passed out.  “Great. Trust me, you didn’t want to be awake for the ride home anyway.”  He muttered scooping up the limp form. “Gonna make driving interesting too.”

Somehow, belting him to his torso with rope he’d found in the snowmobile’s toolbox and the straps from the guy’s backpack, Barnes got the hiker back to his cabin.  As gently as he could, he carried him in and lay him on the rugs before the fire, quick to check his pulse and listen to his breathing.

He was cold and in shock. That much was obvious. But while the hiker’s clothes were damp with snow, he was dressed decently for the weather with quality gloves, boots and layers and a snow jacket with hood. That was good. Lessen the chance for frostbite…  James cleared off the daybed the dogs slept on and shoved it closer to the fire, then set about carefully removing the wet things and covering the hiker with a dry blanket until he could move him into the daybed and bundle him up properly to warm.

When James had to shift the broken leg, the man roused again, groaning with pain and James flinched internally. The dogs paced around the bed whining as James fumbled through the cabinets and the fridge for first aid and medical supplies.

Warm saline. Morphine.

The hiker’s arm was small but muscular. Easy to find a vein and start a line. 

“There you go.”  Seeing the hiker’s pinched look soften with a small dose of painkiller felt like a relief to James too. He brushed a warm hand over the little blonde’s brow without thinking. “Hope that’s better.” He frowned with concern and went to radio Sam.

 

“It’s blizzard conditions. We’re looking at air support at first light and hoping this has blown out by then. You said he’s stable?”

“Yeah.”

“He alert?”

“No, he’s wiped out. And I gave him a half dose of morphine for the leg. But I’ve got him on fluids and his pulse and temp are good.”

“Okay. First light. I’ll be on standby. Radio if anything changes.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

 

James made some coffee and sat by the bed with a book, but ended up just looking at his guest.  The hiker was about his age, James thought, though he looked younger unconscious.  His hair was blonde and he had dark thick brows and long lashes. He was pale, and there were dark bruise-colored circles around his eyes, but still… He was pretty, James realized — then immediately felt guilty for thinking about something like that. He hoped he was comfortable and that the leg wouldn’t hurt too much now that it was splinted, propped on a pillow and still. 

 

An hour or so later, the saline, hooked over a coat rack Barnes had scooted behind the day bed, ran out.  He leaned over the bed, working to disconnect it but leave the leader in case he needed to give the rest of the morphine.  Hydration: check.  As he looped up the tubing, he saw a flicker and realized he was being watched by dim glazed blue eyes.

He swallowed and made his voice gentle. “You awake there?” 

A blink. The hikers tongue worked to lick dry lips. “Yeah…”

“You’re safe. You’re at my cabin. We’re waiting out the snow until air rescue can get through. Just rest — I’m going to get you some water.”

Fetching a cup, he filled it from the electric kettle so it was at least room temperature and not the ice cold stuff from the tap. 

At the bed, the hiker had closed his eyes again, but they opened when he felt James’s arm slip beneath his head and shoulders.  Trying to be slow and gentle, James lifted his head and put the cup to his lips. “Try to drink a little? That’s it.”

The young man closed his eyes as his mouth worked, and James felt a strange anxious warmth to watch him.  It was good he was drinking. That he didn’t seem to be in too much pain… But he was so weak and pale.  If he’d been out there most of the day, hiking and then injured in the cold… Calories. He needed some food.

James tipped the cup away to give him a break, wiping a little dribble of water off the hiker’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “Good. Good job.” He settled him back. “I’m going to fix you a warm drink. I’ll be right back.”

Bleary, the hiker blinked and closed his eyes. “Thank you…” He breathed.

 

In the kitchen, Barnes heated some milk in the microwave and rummaged through the pantry. Turk eagerly shadowed him, toenails clicking on the wood floors. The dog whined hopefully.

“Puppy Snaps later buddy. I’m working.” He grabbed his vanilla protein shake powder and after a moment of hesitation, the olive oil and honey.

Whisking a spoonful of everything into the milk, he checked the temperature and tasted the concoction.  Sweet and vanilla mostly. A slight oily aftertaste, but he wanted the extra fat in there, so it would do.

Back at the bed, his charge appeared passed out again, but opened his eyes when James slid his arm back under him.  “I want you to try to drink this, okay? Warm you up. Give you some fuel.”

The hiker didn’t argue, only struggled to tilt his head forward as he accepted a swallow of the milk.

“There you go. That’s it.” James found himself murmuring encouragement as the young man drank.  When he paused, James tilted the mug back to give him a break. “You’re doing good. It’ll help to get some food in your system.”

After about half the contents were gone, the hiker’s energy flagged, his head dropping against James’s arm when it was too much effort to hold it up. 

“Alright then.” James put the cup aside and worked to carefully lower him back into the pillow. “That’s good. That should help. Just rest now.”

Painkiller and exhaustion dazed, the blue eyes still found James’s. “Thank you…” He wheezed before letting them drop closed.

 

 

Around 3 am, the young man shifted, then made a sharp intake of breath, trying not to whimper.  James saw the morphine had worn off.  “Easy. Easy…”  He dug in the blankets to find the arm with the lead line still in it and injected the remainder of the dose.  After a moment or two, the hiker’s face and shoulders relaxed and his breaths evened and deepened with relief. James immediately was glad he’d thought to split the dose.

 

At 6, the radio crackled to life and air rescue showed up. The dogs went nuts and the cabin became a roar and buzz with Sam’s team entering with EMT kits and a stretcher board. While logically he knew the power of a helicopter, James didn’t think he’d ever get used to the gail force of one touching down and whipping trees and everything else not nailed down around. No wonder the dogs acted like it was the freaking second coming.

“That’s a decent splint, Grizzly Adams.  Wilson told me you did EMT work after college? That your fallback when you discovered creative writing pays shit?” One of the men in an orange reflective snow suit turned from checking the hikers vitals to raise an eyebrow at James.

Barnes rolled his eyes. Of course Tony got sent. What a pain in the ass.

“No Stark, I decided to free lance in the private sector. Don’t worry. You’ll be getting my bill.”

The crew positioned the stretcher board to shift the hiker and Tony stepped back, filling out some notes, to give them room. “I’m being serious Barnes.  You like it up here and we can catch you up real quick. Wilderness rescue is a damn sight more interesting than mopping up car wrecks and drug overdoses in New York. You can do real work instead of playing mountain man hermit and writing about aliens or whatever the fuck.”

“I’d prefer not to be shot wandering into a marihuana patch or meth kitchen, thanks.”

“Point taken. Look, I get it.  It sucks all over —but lemme tell you this: Helicopter. It goes whoosh and zoom. Fun. And we all get to ride in it — even this poor bastard.” 

With that, the crew bundled a newly attached iv bag onto the hiker’s chest and slid him sideways onto the stretcher board, blankets, elevated broken leg, splint and all. He whimpered, then settled.

Barnes pushed forward, suddenly anxious, eyes flashing over the smaller man’s drawn face.

“Demerol.” Stark explained frowning at James’s concern. “It’s still coming on, but should keep him comfortable for the ride back.”  While the crew strapped their patient to the board securely, Stark rubbed Deedee’s head and stowed his notes in his satchel. “You did good work here Barnes. This kid owes you one.”

In moments, the invading team of EMTs had bagged their gear and filed out carrying the hiker with them. The last thing Barnes saw was Stark giving him a salute from the helicopter while another tech fitted an oxygen mask over the little blonde’s face.

 

  Wandering back into the cabin, James rubbed a hand over his scruffy face.  He was exhausted and now his living room looked like a war zone. Furniture shoved around by the fireplace and kitchen. Dog gear and blankets everywhere. Spreading puddles of melting snow and mud tracked all over.  And yet it seemed impossibly quiet after the racket of the ‘copter and rescue crew.

Well. There would be no writing this morning, he decided.  He fed the dogs and threw some of their old towels down to sop up the wet floor. Then he fixed a bowl of oatmeal, and fell asleep in front of the fire. After noon, he rose and began picking up the chaos, wondering how bad the hiker’s leg break had been.  It was a sucky way to spend a hiking trip, but James imagined his friends would be so relieved to have him back, they’d probably spoil and pamper him some. Maybe that would be nice for him.

God.  Why was he still thinking about that stranger and his friends?  Stark was right. Not about his writing work, but the hermit jabs.  Those struck home. When the weather cleared he needed to take Sam up on his many beer night invitations, maybe.  Go with him and the crew a town over and meet some of their ski patrol friends and get introduced to the new family being park hosts for the next season. See some faces of the human rather than just canine variety. Yeah, that would be good.

He began picking up the tangle of snow jacket, rope and gear he’d shucked off when he entered the cabin carrying  the stranger and cursed when something heavy and black slid back to the floor and spilled.  Shit. The hiker’s backpack: he’d used the straps to help keep him on the snowmobile…

Kneeling down, he began scooping the contents back inside. There were several hard cover spiral sketch books, a watercolor block and several tins he suspected were pencils. An artist? He could radio Sam to report it and see about getting it back to him. Ship it maybe? Looking at the largest of the spiral’s covers he spotted a name: “Steven Rogers”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike your hot chocolate because I think we're headed into Hallmark movie territory. You know, the kind of Hallmark movie with hairy smelly dogs and lotsa casual profanity.

Continuing in his clean up efforts, James had a second ‘oh shit’ moment when he realized he’d let the EMTs go without any of the hiker’s clothes. Here shoveled half under the daybed were the guy’s snow coat, gloves, boots and well, everything except his base layers that had still been dry when Barnes stripped him down. Fuck.

While he was sure the guy would be happy to get his art supplies back, decent cold weather gear was expensive, and he’d miss it sorely if he was stuck in the area for a while or forced to replace it at one of the overpriced ski shops catering to tourists.

James checked the weather and emergency alert bands. FM 15 was still closed. The parks crew would clear their internal roads for emergency work first, but that would probably be slow.  If the snow let up, he had enough gas he could take the snowmobile down to park headquarters, or to… where would the hikers stay? Probably Celeste, the closest small resort town between the two biggest ski areas…  He might get stuck in town overnight doing that route, but he’d stayed at the park HQ before. Sam wouldn’t mind.

He checked the land line and called the parks office.

“Oh hey man, how’s it going up there?” A friendly voice that always sounded pleasantly surprised greeted him.

“Hey Scott. Going ok so far—“

“Yeah, Sam told me you and the dogs are the big heroes!  You’re making us look bad!”

“Just Deedee. I think she wants to join Stark and his hot shots. Look, about that hiker…”

 

Sam’s deputy, Scott, was a wealth of information. Steven Rogers had been taken to the small hospital in Celeste and he and his friends were registered at the Arrow Lodge nearby for the week.  After living in New York, Barnes marveled at how small towns considered a complete lack of discretion a public service rather than a breach of privacy.  Maybe they were just that bored? Damn if it wasn’t useful though.

“I’m sure you could drop his stuff off there or if you bring it by the office we can have them pick it up.” Scott offered. “Whenever the roads clear up, of course.”

“Great, thanks Scott.  I’ll do that.”

When he hung up with Scott, he called the Arrow Lodge and left a courtesy message at the front desk. At least then the guy would know it wasn’t lost or cut up by the EMTs.

 

But the snow did not let up the next day.  It poured down in white spiraling drifts and James stayed indoors, wandering around in long johns and puffy snow boots, drinking coffee and working on his latest Buchanan Starkwether interstellar explorer novel while the dogs lazed around like living farting bearskin rugs.

He’d put in almost 3000 words since that morning.  It was a first draft, so they certainly weren’t good words, but still. It was a respectable amount of work.  So he didn’t blame himself too much when his attention kept drifting to the black backpack of sketchbooks. What sort of artist was the blonde? He’d obviously planned on working en plein air despite the cold — did that mean he was either really experienced or cutely naive? 

James knew he shouldn’t look through them.  But who would know?  And he was only human…  

No.

He ate a late lunch and spent an hour lifting weights blaring his workout playlist, feeling like a model citizen and a complete Boy Scout who resisted foul temptation.  Also, he had a stern talk with himself about how much time he spent alone and how that might make him project too much on strangers.  He knew nothing, _nothing_ about the man he’d helped…

…But didn’t that also mean the sooner he got a reality check, the sooner he could get over any false hope and disappointment?

He dumped the backpack on his breakfast table and sat down to snoop.

If there’s writing, he told himself fiercely, you stop and put that shit away.

Ok. That sounded good. He had limits. He wasn’t a complete asshole…

The first sketchbook was a series of landscapes and studies of different individual flora and fauna.  Pinecones revealing their radiating spirals. Various rock textures from limestone to feldspar to granite and flint. Bird feathers.  Some were partially washed in watercolor on the multimedia paper, making it buckle a little.  The landscapes were highly detailed, letting the rock and plant features feel like inviting hiding places to explore, or grand, like architectural marvels.  Here was a brooke forming secret crystalline pools in a shady grotto, and here was a lone pine on a towering red cliff face stretching impossibly skyward…

Barnes felt himself grinning.  He suddenly knew exactly why the guy was hiking.

He’d obviously heard about Trefoil Falls freezing in the winter and had wanted to draw and paint it. If that wasn’t the plan, well, James would eat one of his dogs. It was the most beautiful feature in the park and all of this work pointed to it being the artist’s goal.

God, this had to suck for him, James realized glumly.  It was one thing to have a holiday screwed up by an accident, but this guy was on a special mission that got completely derailed.

He put the thought aside and picked up the second sketchbook.

This one was only pencil drawings, a few inked in black.  Most of them were human portraits. Probably personal — James didn’t recognize any of the faces, but the depth and lighting and also loose sense of immediacy and placement suggested they were done in person. Not studied from photos.  Flipping further in, he found a few studies of actors and musicians. And here and there were some of the same faces translated into a more comic style…  A woman with sharp features and straight jaw length hair from the previous pages was depicted as a cat-suited sexy cartoon spy or maybe burglar, complete with raised gun and a Batman like utility belt. A scruffy guy who’d been drawn in profile earlier was caricatured sharing a pizza and beer on a shabby couch with a one-eyed dog. Barnes smiled and eagerly flipped the page.

What the —?

His brow furrowed.

The next image was another comic character, but larger and more detailed that the other two.  It was a full body drawing of… well, a man.  Or rather, a spaceman.  He had the outfit and accessories of a vintage 1950’s ‘vision of the future’ cosmonaut, right down to a bubble glass helmet with little ringed antennae off the top of it, but his pose was that of a sly pin-up girl, straddling a fin of his rocket ship and half turned to smile invitingly at the viewer over his shoulder. Also, his space suit was ridiculously tight and suggestively burned and tattered here and there — so much so there was even a peek of shapely buns in a naughty nod to the old Coppertone suntan ads.

James made a bemused smirk. It was a funny drawing — even more so because it was sexy as hell — but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was witnessing an in-joke he wasn’t privy too.

Looking closer, he could see paper stubs in the spiral rings.  Several pages before this work had been torn out.  He flipped past it and saw smaller very loose sketches of the same spaceman character in various interstellar predicaments: Loosing a desperate battle to a tentacled beast, haplessly carried away over the shoulder of a large hairy alien, and even straining to kiss another young handsome cosmonaut despite their bubble helmets being in the way.

Well.

Barnes blinked.

Well.

He closed the sketchbook.

He carefully stacked everything up and slid it back into the backpack before zipping it firmly and sitting for a moment with his hands resting palms down on the tabletop.

Well.

That had done absolutely nothing to give him a reality check or ward off false hope.  No straight man could have made that pin-up comic.  If Barnes was wrong about that, he’d eat his other dog.

He hurried to the radio and hunted the dial for the weather recordings, suddenly overcome with the need to take these things to town and get them the hell out of his possession before he rummaged through them again, and also, for other… reasons.

Snow through the night. Fuck.

Wait, Barnes. Wait. Why would someone with these chops be interested in him? The guy had amazing skill. And this was just the knock around work he had with him — what did his finished pieces look like? Did he do gallery or commission work or maybe he was an animator? James’ thoughts spiraled… He suddenly had the image of himself coming into the Arrow Lodge looking like a hulking dirty grizzled Bigfoot in plaid to try and chat up a confused and probably disgusted, but very accomplished thank you, complete unknown. Who, also, Barnes had just riffled and spied through his personal belongings, so good fucking luck trying to not be nervous and keep that under your hat.  You idiot.

Hold up. Hold the fuck up.

He rose and went to the sink and guzzled a glass of water.

You are a published author.  You have a popular series full of political and social commentary that’s been called Game of Thrones in space.  That one guy compared you to Heinlein.  Okay, yeah, it was a really excited dude at a book signing, but still… You also got chops. You’re a grown ass man and impressive too.

Like a penitent monk, he went and took an almost scalding hot shower.  He shaved, trimmed his nails and got dressed in real clothes.  Then he picked up a weeks worth of laundry, cleaned the kitchen, put on some beans for soup, made a fresh pot of coffee and sat down at his laptop to review his outlines and notes as preamble to diving into another chapter draft.  If he also checked the weather a dozen times during this burst of super mature adult-y productivity, well that was no one’s goddamn business.

 

 

Around 8 pm, as Barnes was eating cornbread and navy bean soup and the dogs were scooting their bowls noisily across the floor in a race to see who could Hoover up kibble the fastest, the phone rang.

Startled, he shoved his dinner aside and hurried over.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Ah - Is this James Barnes?” A woman’s voice.

“Yeah, yes. Who’s this?”

“My name’s Natasha — at the Arrow Lodge. They gave us a message that you were the guy that helped Steve?  That you found his things?”

James's heart was suddenly pounding in his chest and he had to lick dry lips.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t get them in with the air flight crew. It was sort of crazy—“

There was a surprised chuckle in his ear. 

The woman was laughing at him. “Seriously? Did you just apologize?”

James blinked, and started over. “Is - Is he alright?”

“Yeah. We just got back from the hospital.” Her voice pushed aside its amusement and softened. “He’s okay. Just really tired and pretty disappointed, you know? That was our first day out.”

“Oh man. I can’t imagine…”

“But he’s really grateful to you, and it cheered him up you found his gear. So little blessings, right?”

“Right. Yeah, ah, as soon as I can get through, I’ll run it down to the park office, or to the Lodge — whatever’s better for you guys-“

“I hate to ask you to make the trip — but since you’re offering and we don’t have a car…” Barnes could practically hear the ‘sorry, not sorry’ amusement in the woman’s smooth voice. He’d hate to play poker with this gal.

“I come down pretty regular for supplies, so it’s no trouble.”

“Thank you. Really. Um…?”

“Yeah?”

“When you come, could you give us a call first? Steve really wants to say thanks personally.”

“Oh, ah, sure. Of course.”

 

 

That night, James lay in bed, toasty warm buried under his layers of flannel sheets and wool blankets and enormous dogs, staring at the ceiling, 100% stone cold sober awake.

Christ man.  What are you, sixteen? Get a grip. Also, note to self: lay off the coffee.

To add insult to injury, Turk rolled over, grunted and began snoring dog breath into his face. Perfect.

 

 

…………………………….

 

"WSNO for the lower valley, Archer County, Angel Star resort, Vella, Celeste and the National Parks region. Clear skies and a high of 30 degrees predicted. FM 15 and all parks roads closed to public traffic until further notice. Travelers stay tuned for the latest road condition updates. Additional precipitation likely later in the week..."

James rolled over and flipped off the radio, his brain slowly processing what he'd just heard. Snowmobile it was then.

 

...................................

 

 

The Arrow Lodge was an older destination from the 1950’s that sat right at the beginning of Celeste’s main winter tourist drag. It had steep pitched roofs with the traditional high and bright windows on its front face framed with blonde aspen logs.  The latest owners or managers completely embraced its age, resurrecting its neon sign and the garish technicolor souvenir postcards that had been offered back in the early 60’s.  As Barnes parked the snowmobile and fumbled to unhook the bungies he’d strapped Steve’s gear down with, he noticed a chainsaw cut wooden bear to the side of the entrance. The animal, one paw raised, had a fresh coat of paint and shellack, but was still clearly an antique with rough dry cracks and other obvious signs of wear.

Still gloved, his hand instantly went up to his chin as though checking his shave. James hoped to god he at least looked a little smarter and neat than the wood grizzly.  His heart was pounding and his stomach was doing flip-flops and he suddenly had a flashing impulse of instantly ditching the backpack and duffel of clothes at the front door and zip! Beating it back up the mountain leaving a Bugs Bunny-like cartoon cloud of powder in his wake.

Only he didn’t want that. He really really didn’t. He took a deep breath and laughed at himself.  Whatever happened, even if it was awkward and horrible, he could make it into a funny story to tell Sam over a beer later, right?

 

As James walked up to the front desk, the clerk smiled at him and immediately pointed into the resort’s big living room with its massive white rock fireplace and crackling blaze. Barnes frowned, confused, then followed her finger.  The little blonde was downstairs by the fire. Waiting for him.

Approaching, Barnes saw that he had headphones on and was using a cheap spiral notebook to draw in.  Probably a replacement found at the CVS since Celeste was hardly big enough to have specialty stores like art supplies.  The smaller man looked worn and tired, still with the dark circles around his eyes.  His leg was in a cast from knee to ankle, propped up on an ottoman and he was outfitted with a crutch, box of tissues and a large drink close by.  The top half of him was dressed neatly in a button-down shirt and thick fisherman’s sweater, while the lower half was clad in oversized fleece peppermint striped pajama bottoms; clearly something they’d found that could accommodate the ridiculously huge cast.

James's chest squeezed a little — he felt bad. He hadn’t meant for the guy to get up and get dressed just to see him.  He was probably exhausted, and when James had called to let them know he was coming, Natasha mentioned that he had a cold, which wasn’t surprising after what the guy had been through.  

But when Barnes got close enough to step around his chair and be seen, the blonde looked up, shucking off his earphones and his face broke into an embarrassed grin. “Hi.”  He sat up and leaned forward awkwardly, offering his hand.

James took it in his larger one and shook, smiling nervously and hoping to god it didn’t feel like shaking hands with Gentle Ben. “Hi. Uh, James Barnes.”

“Steven Rogers. And you must think we’re complete idiots.” He gestured to a chair inviting James to sit.

“Why would I think that?”

“Getting separated. And well, this…” He waved at his bum leg.

James blinked. For a moment stunned by how much he liked the animated blue eyes and Steve’s sheepish pink blush. “What? No… It was an avalanche. You’re lucky you weren’t buried.”

Steve bit his bottom lip and made a face.

“What?”

Steve cut his eyes to either side then leaned over conspiratorially. “I broke it _after_ the avalanche.” He whispered with a grimace.

“Wha — how?” James couldn’t help but bray a little laugh.

“Yeah, ah…” Steve turned completely crimson. “The snow shelf had already come down, and I couldn’t see Natasha or Clint, so I panicked and started running up hill higher and trying to climb up on one of the rocks to see better downhill and find them, and, well…” He covered his face with his hands. “Please don’t tell.”

Barnes straightened, face going blank. “Tell what?”

Steve sat back. “Ha. Perfect.” He laughed nodding then grew quiet and serious. “Also, thank you. For not letting me freeze to death. I - I’m still trying to put bits of it together, you know. It’s a mess. But I really thought that was it…” He bit his lip and trailed off.

“S’okay.” James blushed and looked down nodding.  “Ah, your bag. I’ve got it and your snow gear.”

Steve’s smile was back, grateful for the subject change. “You really are a life saver. I mean, Clint figured the EMTs cut the snow pants off — and there’s no getting them over this mess anyway.” He waved at the cast. “But I thought the coat and everything was gone.” Steve looked at James thoughtfully. “Are you…? Are you with search and rescue? Or the parks?”

“Oh no.  I live on the upper west side, close to the park.” And James caught himself as the words came out and flinched.

“What?” The blue eyes twinkled curiously.

“Heh. I sound like a rich New Yorker. Upper West side…”

“Okay Mr. Swell. So when you’re not attending galas at the Met and rescuing hapless hikers lost in Central Park, what are you about?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

Holy shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. 

Barnes’s brain knew this. 

Indirect playful question about personal information.

Light delivery in pretense that it didn’t matter.

Flirting. 

But was it?

Pretty sure genius.

He realized his eyes had gone wide looking at Steve.

“So Clint and Natasha are your hiking buddies?”

“Yeah. We’re here for the week.” Steve nodded and sat back, but didn’t press that James had dodged his question.

Barnes looked around. “Where are they?”

“They went ice skating over at the city park.”

“And left you?”

Steve smirked indignantly. “I didn’t want to go and show them up. When you got these mad skills you gotta learn not to showboat too much, you know?  Sorry. Excuse me.”  He turned his head and managed to grab a tissue before sneezing and having to blow his nose. “Ug.”

Barnes tried to assess and read the situation.  The group was trying to salvage their trip, and this guy, even worn out, injured and sick, was trying his best not to be a drag. Of course he wasn’t going to stop them from going and doing other activities — which, well, what was there? The national park, skiing, snowboarding, ice skating. Fuck, even the hot springs on the other side of the park would be off limits for Steve having to keep that monster cast dry. James frowned.

“Hey, have you had lunch?”

“No.”

His heart pounded. “There’s a Thai place down the road. They make a super hot Tom Kha soup.”

Steve perked up. “I love Thai.”

“About two blocks on the snowmobile. I can make it go really slow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am 100% just making this shit up as I go along.  
> If anyone had told me I'd end up writing something that went from being Bizarro land Misery (where everyone is sane and acts like healthy helpful grownups) to what amounts to a meet-cute I WOULD HAVE DENIED EVERY BIT OF IT.  
> If you enjoy over-thinky-easily-embarrassed hermit Bucky, I'd love to hear it because I'm sorta enjoying writing him and his flatulent doggos right now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch!! So excite! Also, if you wanna know how awkward James is feeling, maybe go hunt up the Sebastian Stan in 'Monday' motorcycle ride snaps. I dunno if they're still on the Tumblrs due to overall their delightful lack of clothes...

 

While diving in and inviting Steve to lunch seemed like a good impulse initially — and even more so because the artist seemed to warm to the idea immediately — oh man, did it create more awkward troubles than Barnes could have anticipated.

First, part of the impulse was to not treat Steve like he was delicate glass.  Going out to lunch close by wasn’t exactly edge of your seat excitement, but it wasn’t treating him like he needed to stay shut up in the hotel either. And yet when the guy got up, it was very apparent he could only move like a slow pirate with a cement peg leg.

Still, he gamely wrestled his snow jacket, scarf, and gloves out from the duffel bag, before looking at the remaining bulky clothes and backpack, then at the front desk a moment, trying to work out a dilemma.

Right.

“Uh, why don’t I run that to your room real quick?”

That got a relieved smile. “Yeah, uh, that’d probably be best.”  He fished his keycard out and handed it over. “213.”

James hurried off with the bags and refused to even glance in the suite when he opened the door.  Just set the items inside and pulled the door shut, like the ghosts of his sketchbook snooping spree were in there waiting to get him.  That’s right, genius. Now you have to play dumb about that all during lunch.  That won’t make your anxiety act up, will it? Ug…

Returning to the lobby, he found Steve had his coat on and the woman at the front desk was helping him put a plastic trash bag over the cast to keep it dry.

“You look like you’ve done this a few times.” Steve watched her tighten the top expertly with a rubber band.

She smirked. “Been here 5 seasons. Not my first rodeo. Also, here.” She handed him an extra bag. “Put it in your pocket. I’ll have housekeeping stick some more in your room for showers.”

And then of course, there was the snowmobile.

Barnes handed Steve the helmet then mounted and patted the back of the saddle.  Giving him a dubious look and hobbling a little closer, the smaller man donned the helmet before turning and pulling the crutch out of his armpit to balance awkwardly on his good leg. 

Now what?

He made a comic grimace at James, at a loss for how to manage this.

“Wait, wait. Sorry. I’ve got an idea…” Barnes climbed off. “You go first. Back up to it, sit and slide your good leg over?” He held his hand out for the crutch and offered his arm.

Steve nodded, grinning like this was high comedy and gripped James arm to steady himself, then carefully sat, turned and mounted the saddle.

For his size, his hands were quiet strong.  James tried not the think about the touch of Steve’s fingers squeezing his forearm, then bent to carefully lift and help move the cast into place on the footrest. “Good?”

“Aye aye. Good to go.”

James tucked the crutch into the luggage bungies and mounted in front of him.  

Oh. 

His breath hitched when the other man’s body shifted forward against his back and Steve’s arms went around his waist. When he rode with Sam or Scott, they dropped their weight into the footrest and gripped the passenger straps, automatically leaving a couple inches for the Holy Ghost. He hadn’t thought through having Steve pressed up against him and hugging him like a koala. But it made sense. He was out here in fleece pajama bottoms and it was fricking cold.  Besides, it felt nice… Barnes swallowed thickly and started the engine. 

 “It’s just up the road a little.” He turned his head and raised his voice over the roar so Steve could hear him in the helmet.

The squeeze on him loosened enough for one hand to make a thumbs up, then as James turned the machine, it resumed its hug and tightened firmly.

Between the vibrating chain belt drive and the warmth of the first man to be pressed up against him holding him in, oh jesus… five years?— by the time Barnes parked and helped Steve dismount, he couldn’t be more thankful that insulated snow pants and a long ski jacket hid damn near everything. He tugged his jacket down in the front feeling again like a pathetic sixteen year old.  God, he hoped he wasn’t blushing.

Steve popped the helmet off, wincing, but grinning through it and shoved the crutch under his arm. “I’ve never ridden one before.” He panted.

“You okay?”  Barnes brow furrowed at the squinty breathless look.

“The vibrations.” He spoke between quick breaths. “Kinda stirred up the leg.” Pant. “It’ll be okay.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—“

“Don’t sweat it.” Steve laughed. “This is so much better than being shut in. And I’ve always wanted to ride one.  Like a snow jet ski.” He limped towards the restaurant door. “How fast can it go?”

Barnes felt himself smile a little and followed, impressed despite his worry. “S’about like a car or motorcycle.  I don’t take it over 50 much though. It’s pretty old.”

 

 

Despite the awkwardness of the trip, watching Steve, ruddy faced, happily smelling the Tom Kha and digging into it along with coconut rice and hot green chicken curry, James was glad he’d invited him.

“Spicy food — it’s the best when you’re stuffed up, right?”

“All I ever want is hot. I can’t taste anything else when I have a cold.”

“Exactly!  And man, this is really good. Thank you.”

Barnes knew he was blushing now.  

God.  

Steve was sitting sideways in the booth so he could prop the cast out straight on the bench seat. And he was animated and flushed and smiling… And despite looking like he’d been drug backwards through a hedge or possibly the victim of a drunken frat hazing gone terribly wrong, Barnes thought he was just so… he didn’t know. Pretty? Cute? Ridiculous? All of the above?

He tried to not look like he was staring and to just eat his food, but his brain was flipping a mile a minute for conversation ideas and he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes to himself.

And oh.  There would be a ride home.

 

 

“Ok, so you’re not search and rescue —but, you knew how to handle my leg.  You gave me something for pain.”

Barnes stopped, his drink halfway to his lips.

“You remember that?” He asked, glancing up as the waiter cleared their empty dishes.

“Bits and pieces, yeah. The pain, and it stopping, definitely.” Rogers nodded seriously. “So are you an advanced Eagle Scout? What do you do?”

“I was an EMT for a while in New York.  I’m friends with a bunch of the guys in parks service, and I’m in a remote area, so I keep my certification up to date.  They have me keep a radio and some medical supplies for emergencies.” He tried to shrug and look offhand.

“So you really are from New York?” Steve’s blue eyes twinkled. “Upper West Side?” He teased.

“Brooklyn.”

“Ah.” Steve nodded. “But ‘was’ an EMT?”

Dammit. What’s with the career question?

“That’s right, ah — Where are you from?”

Steve tilted his head and sat back a little, and Barnes knew he was considering whether to let this second parry to his question go uncontested again.

“Daly City. Basically engulfed by San Francisco.”

“Oh.” Barnes nodded awkwardly. “And what do you do?” He hated himself for asking. God, was that all he could come up with? The kiss of conversational death question?

The blonde folded his arms. “Ok. Nope. No.  I’ve asked you twice. Quid pro quo now. Those are the rules.”

“There are rules?”

“Absolutely. Very strict rules. I think it’s in the Geneva Convention or Robert’s Rules of Order.”

James shifted and fiddled with his chopsticks. “I’m a writer.” He mumbled.

“What was that now?”

“I’m a writer.”

Steve smiled, but didn’t say anything else for a moment.  His eyes softened watching James study the table top, and then he put a hand forward, patting the formica lightly, as though maybe miming what he wanted to do to James’s hand. “Ok. I can see it.  Not online junk like reviews or listcicles. And not nonfiction or journalism…” He pondered out loud quietly.  “You. You write fiction where it’s quiet. That makes sense.” He nodded to himself, but his eyes had taken on a more thoughtful ken as he watched Barnes’ discomfort.

“What do you do?” James shifted and coughed.

“Backgrounds for video games. I prefer traditional media, but mostly I’m on a tablet all day — digital art.”

“Oh… Uh, do you play video games?” Barnes had been the butt of Stark’s crew’s jokes when they tried to get him to play Grand Theft Auto and he could hardly steer the avatar. 

Steve twisted his mouth. “Not… really?  I mean I have sometimes… But I’d rather be outside out doing things. Not go from a work screen to a home screen?”

“Yeah.  Like hiking?”

“Sure. And biking. Surfing.”

“You surf in San Francisco?”

Steve nodded. “In a wet suit. That’s why I have such an amazing tan.”  He sat back again and held up his sweater covered arms as though showing it off.

James smirked at him, but also noted that he was squinting a little and slumping back in the booth heavily. He was getting tired.

“Leg bothering you?”

A tight nod. “Starting to.”

“We should probably head back. I need to start home soon or it’ll be dark.”

 

 

At the lodge, Barnes could tell from the quiet pinched look Steve had he was beginning to hurt. He walked him to his room and when Steve fumbled trying to manage both the key card and his crutch, James gave him his arm, opened the door and steered him inside.

There was a kitchenette and sitting area with two bedrooms off either side. “You this way?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Steve sighed.

“Sorry… Uh, maybe lunch was too much. You just got out of the hospital last night.”

“No, no. I enjoyed it. Just, probably shook the leg too much.”  He held James arm to steady himself as he sat heavily on the bed. “They gave me some pills for if it gets bad, like for overnight.”

James nodded, helping him out of his jacket and scarf, then knelt and shucked the plastic bag off the cast.  Without a word, he pulled back the blankets and helped Steve lay back on some stacked pillows, then gently lifted the leg in the cast up to set on a couch cushion already scavenged from the living area to elevate it.

The smaller man sighed, sinking into the bedding.

“Better?”

“Yeah… Thank you.”

All business, Barnes found the pain medicine on the nightstand and shook out a pill, then filled a glass of water and helped Steve take it.

Steve watched him as he made sure he had tissues, a drink and cough drops within reach. “You don’t have to do all that.” 

“Your friends aren’t back and I don’t want you to have to get up. You want your notebook, or the TV remote?” Barnes realized he was scowling. Where were this Natasha and Clint duo anyway?

“Nah. They’ll be back soon. And this stuffs supposed to make me sleepy anyway.  I’m just going to nap.”

Why was Steve looking at him kind of amused like that?

It couldn’t be the pain pill already…

“You’re ok?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Steve smiled at him with a weary blink or two.

“Would you… Would you maybe want to go to a movie later this week?”

The smile broadened. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

 

 

As he left the Lodge, James passed by a couple coming down the hall; a slender woman with straight red hair and scruffy blonde guy, both carrying several grocery bags each. They were cutting up, taking every opportunity to hang off of or goose one another. As they passed Barnes, they straightened and gave him a smile and a nod, then immediately started laughing and shushing each other as they continued.

Tourists and ug, PDA… James hated that he felt weird about moments like this… Like was it something about him that was funny? No…

It wasn’t until he was back on the snowmobile and out of Celeste that he realized they were the people from the sketchbook — the portraits that also got treated to being made into comic characters. 

Ok. Good. 

Natasha and Clint had made it back and Steve wasn’t alone.

 

 

He got back to the cabin around dusk to be greeted by joyous leaping yodeling dogs that almost knocked him over. “Hey guys. Hey.”

He plopped on the couch and let them maul and wallow on him, scratching ears and letting his arms sink into warm thick fur while he thought of the way Steve looked at him softly but then didn’t grill him about his work.  He hoped he felt better soon.  He hoped the roads cleared so it didn’t take him an hour and a half on the snowmobile to get to Celeste and he could use his SUV to take them to the movies.

 

Around 9 pm, there was a loud banging on the door.

What the fuck?

He looked out the peephole, but only saw the front walk.

Confused, he opened the door and Sam and Stark sprang up from ducking under the sightline.

“Surprise Sasquatch!”

“I'm your doctor, when in need, I’m your pusherman…” Sam sang, dancing in with a sealed plastic pharmacy bag.

“Well you sure as fuck aren’t Curtis Mayfield.”

Stark brushed past James plus the ecstatic dogs,  caught the bag when Sam tossed it to him, then popped it in Barnes’s fridge and helped himself to a beer. “Well, now you’re refilled on emergency supplies.  Hey, wait… Wilson, you see this? Sasquatch here isn’t as… I don’t know… squatchy as usual.” He brushed his fingers on his own perfectly trimmed goatee to illustrate.

“Whoa, Barnes!  That looks good.” Sam nodded approvingly at his shave. He exchanged raised eyebrow glances with Tony as he shucked a six pack out of another bag and passed James a beer.  

“Thanks… What are you guys doing out?”

“I was going to come by earlier but no one was answering the phone.” Tony accused, mock put-out. “So after the crews got the park roads clear, me and Wilson put Barney Fife in charge and came by to stock you up and have an ‘attaboy’ beer.”

“Is 15 still closed?”

“Be clear by morning.” Wilson said. “But what gives man?” He craned his head and looked around the cabin wide-eyed. “Are we interrupting something, ah, personal?”

Tony shook his head. “Right. Like Barnes cleaned up and brought someone back here.”

“Seems more likely than Barnes going out.” Sam countered, then saw James’s glare. “Sorry man, but it’s true.”

“Hey. I’m right here.  And I go out.”

The EMT and park ranger fell on each other trying not to laugh. “What? When Walkmans came out?”

“Naw man, but they were still selling Zima…”

“Today. I went out today.” James growled.

Sam smiled. “Yeah? Where to?”

“Celeste.” James twisted his mouth and lifted his chin.

“Yes!” Stark crowed and slapped his back. “That’s what I’ve been telling you! Avail yourself of the seasonal snow bunnies! Who’d you find?  Some strapping he-yeti on skis?  Seriously Barnes, you’re gonna have to help me out. I have no idea what’s your type.”

But James was loosing it under Sam’s shrewd scrutiny. 

“You didn’t.” Sam insisted.

“I did.”

“Then who?”

While James would have easily confided and even enjoyed telling Sam about the small sort-of-date in his own time, and alone, Stark’s presence made it excruciating. But he was also sick of them having him so perfectly pegged.

“The, uh, hiker. Steve. I took him to lunch.”

“ _That twink?_ ” 

“Shut up, Tony.” Sam muttered low and almost dangerously. “The fuck do you know what a twink is anyway…” He looked back at James raising his eyebrows hopefully. “And how’d it go?”

Barnes couldn’t help the grin creeping up. “I’m not sure, but we’re going to a movie next.”

“My man!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on cold medicine and I'm still typing the heck outa this turd! Damn, I feel pretty. Here's hoping I last through finishing it up before I crash and burn. Lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeellll… Crap. I guess we’re gonna get all plotty and angst-y. I promise cute and mushy will continue next time. Pinkie swear!

The following day, James had a phone interview and Skype meeting with his publicist.  Also, it was sparkling clear outside and the dogs were due for their annuals. James didn’t have internet at the cabin, so there was nothing for it but go to town. He decided he’d try to knock out all the errands and check in with Steve about the movie.

Around noon, he called Steve, but Clint answered the phone.  

“Oh, hey man. Yeah, he’s still asleep.”

“That’s okay —“

“Want me to have him call you back later?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

That was good. Steve needed some extra rest. James tried very hard not to picture the artist snuggled in like a hibernating dormouse with rumpled blonde bed head, but he failed miserably.

He continued running the dogs to the vet and then to the library for the Skype meeting.

Afterwards, with the dogs fogging up the cab of his truck, he ran into the grocery store for a quick supply run.  He didn’t actually need-need anything, but anytime he bothered to come to town it was a good idea to grab a few things to stock up.  But really he was stalling, hoping for a call back from Steve before he made the trek back to the cabin.

No dice.

He’d just have to fill the day with actual work — and maybe sit by the land line just in case.

 

…………………………

 

Once upon a time, James Barnes, a few years out of college, lived in Vinegar Hill.  

It was a small apartment, frugally split between him and whatever roommates worked out at the time: friends from school, then an ambulance driver, Johnny, from his first Emergency Services assignment.

James knew that like Sam and Tony, Johnny thought he had no social life. But unlike Sam or Tony, the younger man seemed 100% fine with it. They did well together — both in the professional sense as an EMT team where everything was about communication, skill and reliance, but also in the domestic sense of cooperative housemates.  Johnny had zero interest in being in the apartment other than for sleeping. That James quietly spent all his down time writing was basically unknown, but also fine.  And, not wanting to interrupt work, James was prone to cooking large one-pot meals that could be frozen or eaten on for days, so when Johnny was actually home there was usually the bonus of leftovers like stew or chili to be had. 

So Johnny was a bit surprised when James told him and the team during a shift that a publishing house had picked up his book.

And James was a bit surprised when Johnny, a few months after Carbon Star, Book 1 came out, unceremoniously moved out to room with a paramedic from Rescue 5.

He heard much later, when Johnny had officially transferred to the NYFD paramedic squad, that his roommate hadn’t known he was gay — that he found out from people talking about his book’s publication.

Fucking kids.

James was hurt. And also sort of pissed off at how much the turd had eaten.

Also, for being gay, he felt that it… barely counted?  He’d dated a few guys in college. And he’d gone out and gone home with a few guys since then… But none of it lasted or turned into anything.  What was the little shit afraid of?  If anyone deserved to walk in on something energetic and sloppy — well, now James was sorry he’d never brought anyone around.

But you can’t be a dick roommate in retrospect. And Johnny wasn’t worth the effort of being angry or hurt over…  Besides, James wanted a boyfriend, not one night stands.  That he’d been left with the homophobes’s half of the rent AND he was terminally lonely just seemed like adding insult to celibacy.

 

……………………………..

 

Buchanan Starkwether, the recurring hero of James Barnes’ Carbon Star saga is a five time decorated war hero and the first pilot to navigate a time slip.

In book one, he assists a doctor stationed on a ring planet’s satellite in deducing the cause of infection and quarantining a mutated strain of nanobacteria.

In book two, he and his partner work as diplomats on a future earth populated by mecha assisted canids and insects only to slowly discover the confounding horror of why and how they evolved.

In book three and four, a two parter, he must navigate a world trying desperately to set moral, ethical and functional rule of law to encompass the AI creations that have far out striped their creators in knowledge and in number.

When the first book came out and generated some positive buzz, James found himself not-so-subtly nudged by his publisher to engage with its readers and assist in its promotion. But he quickly discovered that social media petrified him. The thought of it made his teenage anxiety — the prickly sickly stuff that kept him in the closet through high school, and then made him lift weights until he was the size of a small Kodiak and not the bookish quiet dork he felt like inside — rear its head and grow like radiated kudzu.

“I- I can’t write like this.  I’m still an EMT. I gotta keep sharp at work and then be clear when I get to the computer. This?  It… It makes me feel like invisible people are watching my every move, waiting for me to put a word down.” He confessed, covered in flop sweat, to the publicist — _his_ publicist (!) — he met just five minutes ago.

The woman, eagle-eyed and sleek in a dark tailored suit, nodded just once, while waiting for him to resume eye contact with her. Maria. Her name was Maria.

“Serval Books wants to build their speculative fiction imprint, _with series._ They want to cultivate a returning fan base _.”_

James swallowed. He knew that. Was he blowing his contract? Would this get back to the publishing heads?

“Which means our methods must be _sustainable_. There are so many other things we can do to connect and promote. Written interviews, or phone ones. Podcasts. Things timed before or after your main writing periods, or when you’re already disrupted, like on a book tour.” She nodded again, with her tight-lipped intense gaze. “Leave it to me and I’ll take the stress off. I’ll make it look like you have better things to do than field bullshit on Twitter, which you definitely do. Also, thank you for telling me upfront.”

And that was that.

James wondered if Serval Books made a pocket-sized Maria he could carry with him like his cell phone and point at annoying or difficult people. 

Then James met Brock.

James’s team became assigned as support for Rescue 1, which put them in Manhattan proper.  Along with the change of scene came the perk of being welcomed at one of the midtown gyms for being in emergency services.  He and many of the crew would go over and work out several mornings a week. 

Ok. Maybe he went more than the rest of the crew… And maybe that was because Brock, one of the trainers, always grinned at him and helped spot him on the weights, and seemed especially charmed and impressed by his day job…

It wasn’t long before they were sharing protein shakes and jogging together.  Brock was gregarious. Found it easy to talk with people — and made it easier for James’s to go out and navigate a club or party where he didn’t have a specific job or checklist to complete. And he cared about James.  When he found out about the book, the writing, his main concern was all that sedentary time.  

“You gotta take breaks from all the sitting. Get up. Move around.”

“I could get a standing desk.”

“Mmm. Not the same as switching gears from burying yourself in writing. You’ve heard of work/life balance? This is brain/body balance.”

Ok. In retrospect, while Brock might have been trying to be subtle, James knew he didn’t understand the writing.

But it was good. So good.

Good to have arms around him and someone to call.  Good to talk about the day — or night’s craziness with the fire department. Good to go to dinner with someone, or compare apartments and neighborhoods and talk the domestic stuff too. It seemed like such a mundane thing, but they went to look at bicycles (James was considering one) and he remembered looking up at Brock from leaning over the gears of a mountain bike and just feeling so happy.  

Everything was going so great. He had almost completed a draft of his second book and a detailed treatment for the two parter — what would be books 3 and 4. James knew he was approaching a decision point — a moment where he had to let go of the day job and give himself to the writing.  But it was happening so fast.  In college when he’d begun penning what would be the universe of Carbon Star and then began fleshing it out and refining the plot for a first book, time hadn’t mattered. There were no deadlines or overseers. It took however long it took.

That he could juggle his emergency services work and make his publishers deadlines was a miracle of self discipline — but with Brock, so many other things became easier.  Deciding where to eat. Someone to help pick up groceries or things for the apartment… Little things sure, but still. If he wrote full time, he could spend that much more time on his relationship — to support and feel supported.

 

“What is this?” 

“You’ve never heard of Shipwreck?  And I thought you were an author!”

James snickered and squeezed Brock’s arm as he passed through the doors of The Bell House.  Amid a mosaic of past event posters was a new one-sheet with a large galleon, sails unfurled, being buffeted by an angry white whale.  He caught “SHIPWRECK!”  across the top and the legend, “Ruin Good Things” scrolled on the bottom before he was ushered into the crowd inside.

“So you’ve been to this before?”

Brock steered them to the bar, looking over James’s shoulder and waving at someone. “Nah, but a friend of mine keeps telling me about it.” He ordered them each a beer.  “If it’s half as hilarious as he says, you’ll love it.  I even invited the guys.”

The someones Brock had waved to turned out to be Richard and Ben from James’s team plus the rest of the gang from Rescue 1 with the NYFD.  They all slapped James on the back, yelling greetings and what-not over the noise of the growing crowd at the bar.

“Good. You already got a beer. Better keep those coming!”

“Yeah. He’s ready!”

“You been to one of these?”

“Hell no. My girlfriend has though — with her fucking book club.”

James grinned, moving with them as they pushed up to stand behind the back row of seated audience members.  On stage, there were two long tables on either side, each with two people seated facing the audience.  A young man with a handlebar mustache and a woman in a vintage Star Trek miniskirted uniform chatted near a podium center stage between the tables.

A couple people wearing Booksmith t-shirts and name badges milled through the crowd handing out little score cards and small pencils.  James took one and squinted at it in the dim bar light.  It looked like a set of titles and some check boxes. One said “Plan 19 from Outer Space” and another, “Too Twinfinity and Beyond!” but now the lights were coming up on stage and the audience was clapping for the start of the event. He didn’t read the rest.

The woman in the Star Trek uniform raised her hands “I’d like to welcome you all to the is special edition of Shipwreck!  Thank you for coming out tonight to brave the competition we’re calling, ‘It Came From My Worm Hole’!  Who here has never been to a Shipwreck event before?”

James’s entire group was about the only ones clapping, and they were definitely large enough to draw attention.  Brock made as if to push James up to the front — which immediately made Barnes balk and plow further back in the standing crowd. Laughing, Brock slapped his back and let him go.

“Erotic Fan Fiction people.  That’s what you’re in for.” The guy with the handlebar mustache had paused from sorting stapled papers and chatting with the people seated on stage to momentarily grab the microphone from Miss Trek. The audience clapped and raised their beers.

“Thank you for that succinct summation.  I’d like to introduce our reader tonight, Mr. Jim Theis, everyone!”

“I’m a book nerd, Kat, but this is not a reading of Eye of Argon…”  A few people in the crowd hooted at this and the young guy pointed at them and kept chatting, still on mic, but conversational, “There’s my mega-geeks. Right down front. You got that reference? Yeah? Jesus, how fucking old are you? I’ve got your Eye of Argon right here…”

James felt his stomach curdling.  What was this? He looked at Brock who grinned at him encouragingly and nodded back at the stage where Kat had wrested the microphone back and was introducing the four seated people on stage as the competing authors of the evening.

An erotic fan fiction competition. Mr. Handlebar mustache was a local theatre actor drafted to read the works and the audience would vote for a winner without knowing who of the four on stage had written which.

“And tonight is a special edition!” Kat continued.  “Normally we do the classics, but it has been such a big year for science fiction, we’ve invited our competitors to pick any Sci Fi title to come out this year!

 

Carbon Star was the first one up to be lampooned.  But by the time the reading opened, James was seeing greyed out popping edges in his vision and couldn’t breathe — a sure sign he was having a hyperventilating type panic attack.  All he could make out was the press of his boyfriend and coworkers surrounding him, laughing at him and the reek of spilled beer and bad breath.  Somehow he squirmed out of the knot of people and made it into the bathroom.

His heart was a stuttering staccato, but he felt fuzzy numb.  He sat on a toilet and dropped his head between his knees trying to breath normally.

Fumbling his phone out with hands that felt cold, swollen and stiff, he blinked at the screen and stabbed the app icon for Lyft.

3 minutes arrival time.  He stood up and bodily shoved his way out to the sidewalk and cold January air.

Slumped in the strange car, his phone lit up. Brock messaging…

“Where are you?” Tears laughing emoji.

James very deliberately made himself tap each letter. “It’s over. Don’t call me.” He dropped the phone in the floorboard, cursed, then picked it up and managed to touch send.

 

And that was that.

He was fine.

 

He went back to work and kept his chin up and ignored the jibes and invitations to the gym from the crew. It was okay. It would blow over.

 

A few weeks later,  his unit got a call to an older 5 story walk up. 

It was February and freezing and when the heat wasn’t cutting it, the super had tried to use a gas generator and space heaters to supplement it. James discovered a family with three children dead of carbon monoxide poisoning in the basement apartment.

 

As if his own personal pain couldn’t have been enough, this was the tipping point. In his short career, he’d had calls for live people.  He’d been cussed at, puked on, cried on and all sorts of things in between, but he still got to deliver patched up living people to the hospital.  Some of the injuries and shock stayed with him.  Screwed with his sleep or dreams, but he’d never had a surprise like this…  He’d heard fucked up stories. Knew it was just a matter of time and his turn would come…

Getting off shift, he tried to get home, but he completely fell apart. He had no one to talk to — Broke up with Brock… and his crew and friends were at Shipwreck… ...they thought he was a joke and no one understood his split career or the importance of his writing to him.  

He bailed out of the subway, shit… He wasn’t even sure where.

A woman on the sidewalk saw him and her eyes widened as she gave him a wide berth, frightened. Fuck fuck fuck. He couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop tears streaming down his face or the feeling that his brain was rattling out of his head or his heart was just a weakly kicking frog against his ribs, soon to give up.  Nothing made sense and everything hurt and he didn’t know who he could call or what he would say if he was still capable of speaking… He ducked into a restaurant and into a high-backed booth by the door.  A waitress hurried over, took one look at him and backed away slowly — probably then running to get the manager. Fuck.

Serval books.

He had a contract. A contact. Maria.

He fished out his phone and pawed at the screen.

The waitress hadn’t gotten a manager.  She returned and set down a glass of water and a large stack of paper napkins before vanishing again.  James found he could take a shaking breath, mop off his face and stab a number.

 

“Where are you? Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

Maria’s voice was firm, but not empty of concern.  She was coming. Not sending a car.  …And she talked to him the whole time it took her to manifest from whatever alternate dimension professional Valkyries like her lived in. James couldn’t picture it, but he suspected it smelled like gin and tonic and possibly brimstone. 

Maybe Chanel?

She sat beside him in the booth, shielding him from view while he choked out the breakup, and now the anxiety attack.

“First. This is a Xanax.  I have them for when I fly, but you will take it now.” She put the tablet and water glass into his hands. “Second, you’ll be sleeping on my couch. That’s where you’re at.”

“Ok.” He swallowed the pill.

While he calmed, Maria ordered some food and made him look at the menu and make decisions.  He seized on the mundane distraction…

As they ate, she scooted to the seat across from him so she could see his face as they talked.

“You’ve mentioned before that you felt the time to make a break from the day job was coming. You could take this as a sign.”

He nodded.

“Friends and family don’t always know how to react to success. I think you could use a change of scene. Quiet. Nature. You could be anonymous or reinvent yourself? How do you feel about the mountains? Personally myself, the whole package with fresh air and chipmunks made me want to gnaw a leg off, but I hear you writer types love it.”

“Did you just make a joke?

“Possibly.”

 

 

Later, settling in on Maria’s sofa, James was ashamed that he was glad she brought him home. He was supposed to be an adult. Right? But he was relieved to have Maria take over and glad to be looking at her vintage Erté prints instead of the walls of his sad empty apartment.

“I feel so stupid.”

“About what?” 

“Everything.”

She gave him a wry look. “You can’t possibly mean about being shook-up about your call at work today, so I’m going to guess you mean the break-up.”

“Yeah. Ok. I just… Maria? I liked him so much.”

She frowned, not unkindly though, as she considered her words. “Brock wasn’t a mistake.  I think… I think he was just the first sort-of grownup you’ve dated.  The first person who wanted something longterm and reliable instead of just a night out of this and that. The ‘this and that’ boys are easy to identify and dismiss.  It takes more practice when you’re dealing with people really offering something or wanting to stick around.

And if… If he honestly thought you’d find that amusing, well, he doesn’t really know you. And if he intended it for exactly how it felt — which seems more likely based on the aggressive presentation — he doesn’t deserve you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shipwreck is totally a real thing, held by the Booksmith in SF.  
> I’m pretending they do it in Brooklyn too since there is a Booksmith there as well. (Or was. I haven’t checked lately)
> 
> They usually do classics by dead people, so hurt feelings are rare. I went to the one for Little Women and I still haven’t recovered. I mean, they did Alan Moore at one point too, but he probably has chunks of bay area hipsters in his stool and couldn’t give two fucks anyway. Ya know?
> 
> Anyway, if you’re curious there’s a podcast link on their page:  
> https://www.booksmith.com/shipwrecksf


	5. Chapter 5

 

..

 

Getting back to the cabin, James released the truck-crazy dogs to lope around and race off some energy.  He hiked the path that loosely marked the property border with them watching as they dashed through the snow and spooked birds.  Deedee came back first, rooting her head persistently under his hand and leaning against his thigh.

“Sweet girl.” He told her, rubbing her ears. 

Eventually, Turk got bored and trotted back, his panted breath making white plumes in the still air as the three went inside.

James immediately checked the answering machine, mentally hearing Stark ask him if it was still 1995.

“I’m not going to sit beside the phone.” James told Turk. The dog seemed okay with this. He continued to happily huff damp breath in Barnes’s face with his tongue lolling in benign, agreeable, cluelessness. Whether James sat by the phone or not was fine with the malamute, as long as he could be included and get scratches.

Determined to be true to his word, James stabbed the volume button on the ringer up to 20 (as high as it would go) banished another imaginary snide comment from Stark about what decade it was, and left the phone to begin warming leftovers for a late lunch.  After he ate and straightened up, he could probably get a few hours in on his chapter draft before bed.

What if Steve couldn’t find his number, though?  Maybe if he hadn’t heard by a certain time, he should call back?  Could Steve have lost the number?

No. It would be in his cell phone.

But James had called the landline at the Lodge. Both the front desk and when he called the room.

Oh man, so he totally could have lost the number. Mr. Bay Area was probably used to only cells with every number saved under received calls…

Ok. If Steve didn’t call back by 6 pm, James would call again.  That would work…

 

The phone rang.

James jumped and almost tripped over Deedee trying to get around the kitchen counter to it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, James?”

Barnes felt a warm flush crawl up his cheeks as he smiled. “Hey, Steve.” 

Jesus Christ. He was 16 again.

He didn’t care.  He didn’t get to have crushes or be excited for phone calls when he was a teenager.  Maybe he was ridiculous, but he didn’t care…

“Yeah, Clint said you called and I’m so sorry — I was just a slug today. Totally dead to the world.”

“That’s okay. How’re you feeling?”

“Better! Actually, a lot better — maybe I needed to conk out for a while.”

“Maybe.  You still up for a movie, tomorrow maybe?”

“Yeah — ah, actually…”

James heard a little hesitation and marveled at how quickly he felt a stab of worry.

“I looked up the theater to see what was playing, and uh, they’re closed tomorrow for some private event.”

“Oh, crap. Yeah. They only have the one screen, so that happens a lot.”

“BUT.” Steve continued gamely. “We have internet and Netflix here.  Natasha and Clint are going to go try the bunny slope, so I thought maybe we could have movies in?”

 

 

 

That night, the woods were still and quiet when James climbed into bed.  He was still smiling…  He and Steve had ended up talking for about an hour. They were going to have a movie party at the Lodge.

Both dogs were flanking him, laying on top of the covers, effectively plastering him to the mattress.  He wriggled out enough to grab his water and a couple Benadryl from the nightstand. “I have to go to sleep.” He explained to Deedee as she nosed him curiously. “Got a hot date tomorrow.”

Please don’t let it snow again tonight. Please. Please. Please.

San Francisco was very different than New York, obviously, but James had found himself feeling a funny pang as he talked to Steve, and it took him a while to realize it was to be reminded of city life. He missed talking to someone from a large town — he liked to hear Steve mention a weird subway incident or drop a name and then circle back to explain that was a neighbor, or the Muni driver or someone else that made up his everyday world. James told him about the cabin …and confessed he sometimes missed clubs and often missed museums and theaters. Steve thought the cabin sounded cool and wanted to meet his dogs… 

He’s only here a week. Just a few more days, you big sap.

So what? James thought back fiercely, realizing he didn’t care about after the week. Didn’t want to think about it.

Let me enjoy this, okay? Ok?

 

 

…………………………………….

 

 

The redhead answered the door. “Oh, hi.”  She backed up to invite him in. “James, right?  It’s nice to meet you. I’m Natasha.”  

He shook her hand. “Good to meet you.” Their kitchenette and common room was now cluttered with grocery bags, pizza boxes and someone’s winter gear tossed over the back of the breakfast table chairs, with a scruffy blonde in just snow pants flopped over the couch eating a slice…

“Oh hey, man! I’m Clint.” The guy rose, wiped his pizza hand on his thigh before holding it out to Barnes who shook it. “You’re our favorite person. Hey Steve! The babysitter’s here!” He called over his shoulder into the bedroom where sounds of a blow drier whirred.

“He’s not the babysitter!” Steve hollered back over the noise.

Natasha leaned in quietly. “It’s really nice of you to hang out with him.”

“It’s no problem.”

“We’ll get out of your hair.” She grabbed Clint’s elbow and shoved him towards his discarded clothing meaningfully.

“Nice to meet you, Clint.”

“Hey, you too man.” The blonde grinned gathering up his stuff and Natasha drug him half-dressed out the door.

Barnes scooted over the pizza boxes to set his take-out bags down when he heard Steve’s door.

“Hey.”

Steve hadn’t been exaggerating about feeling better. Today Rogers looked worlds rosier. The dark circles under his eyes were gone and he was pink-cheeked and freshly showered, again in a blue button-up shirt, pullover sweater and now… large fleece PJ bottoms that were patterned in camouflage and John Deere tractors. He caught James bemused stare. “There weren’t a lot of choices at the Walgreens. And Clint thought he was being funny.”

“I like ‘em. You should wear those if we go to Xavier’s sometime.”

“Xavier’s?”

“The local’s bar. You can learn all about bow hunting.” James tried really hard to keep a straight face while Steve blanched.  “Or not,” he laughed.

 

 

………………………………………..

 

Stacking up his art supplies and whatnot, Steve cleared some space on the suites’s little breakfast table and James unpacked the deli sandwiches and soup he’d picked up for lunch.

“Um. So where you guys were hiking…” James’s eyes were glued to the sketchbooks and he felt again the urgent wave of guilt for having looked through them.

Steve’s eyebrows went up, but he waited. 

“I gotta ask — were you going to the falls? Trefoil falls?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Trying to. Yeah.  My mom had a picture postcard of them, and so yeah, it’s been kind of this weird thing where I’ve wanted to see them. And then I heard about how it freezes?”

“Yeah.” James nodded, then realized that he had looked at the sketchbooks yet again — so obviously, Steve had to have noticed…

As if on cue, Steve reached over and took the one off the top and flipped the cover back so it was open to a fresh page, massaging at the crushed corner absently to straighten it.

“It hit the floor.” James blurted. “I spilled your backpack picking stuff up, so yeah, the sketchbooks and everything came out.”

“Oh? So what’d you think?”  Steve wasn’t fazed by this confession at all. “I’ve been working on portraiture a LOT lately.”

“I, well I didn’t—“ James’s instinct was to lie. To deny looking. But his brain was sounding klaxons at him to _please read the room_. Steve didn’t care. He took it as a matter of course that someone would look through them.  “I, uh, I recognized Natasha and Clint in a couple things. Those were really good.”

Steve beamed. “I love drawing people I know.”

“But I think my favorite stuff was your landscapes.  I mean, I know you said you do backgrounds for work, so maybe you’re tired of them, but I… I liked the nature studies a lot and I thought that the pine tree on the rock bluff had as much, well. It had something. Like it was a person too.”  James looked down into his sandwich, turning beet red and not sure where this torrent of words just came from.

Steve blinked at him, a bit stunned maybe,  but he was smiling. “Thank you.”

James decided as long as he seemed to be under the influence of truth serum, he might as well own it. “I’m sorry you didn’t make it to the falls.”  He met Steve’s eyes, and it was the other’s turn to glance away shyly.

“Well. It’s always good to have a reason to come back, right?” 

“Right.”

 

…………………………………………..

 

 

“Hell’s Kitchen looks nothing like this.” Barnes gestured at their third episode of Daredevil.

“No?” Steve tilted his head up at James.

“No.  9th Avenue is like a couple nice gay bars and a bunch of small restaurants. And the Performing Arts School… I think this is the writer's idea of maybe early 80’s? Before Disney got ahold of Times Square.”

Feeling lazy after lunch, they’d gathered every pillow in the suite and made a soft bank out of the headboard in Steve’s bedroom.  Now they were ensconced, stretched out side by side. Barnes had taken his boots off and slid his legs beneath the blankets with Steve’s, though he was on the side with the elevated cast, like a weird fiberglass log between their feet.  Still it was warm and cozy.

Around the end of the first episode, Steve had taken James’s hand to hold, resting along their shared sides.  And that was just fine. Barnes gave a gentle squeeze of approval and saw the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch up a little.

“So it’s all gentrified?”

“More so than this. And the bodegas are nicer.  They put out a lot of fruit and flowers, you know, for color. I kinda miss that. People selling fruit on the street.”

“You’d love San Francisco then. Everyone does that. The Asian grocery stores. The hippie health food places.” Rogers smiled. “You get tired of snow, you should come soak up some fog.”

“Heh.”

“Does this bug you? You wanna watch something else?”

“Nah.  I like Foggy.”

“Me too.”

 

 

 

“Ug.” Steve stretched and wriggled with a little huff. “If it weren’t for this cold, I’d ask if you wanted to make out a little.” He sighed and snickered at himself.

James tipped his chin up and feigned continued interest in Matt Murdock’s troubles on screen. “I don’t know.” He shrugged offhand. “You might still be in luck.”

He chanced a side-eyed look down at the little bundle of warmth to his left and saw wide earnest blue eyes. Both caught looking at the other, they cracked up and Steve shoved him in the ribs. “You jerk!” he continued struggling to push James’s bulk while the other rolled against him, maintaining his place. “Are you saying I’m gross?”

“I’m saying you’re cute and I’m probably gonna get a cold every season anyway.” James found himself half in plank over Steve, one arm on either side of his chest, face in his face.  He leaned in and made soft contact. Short. A little proof of promise.

Steve’s panting laughter melted away and he followed, returning the fairly dry, soft nip, then leaning in to nuzzle, to brush close and stay cheek to cheek.

James nosed him back, then kissed his cheek and his forehead before rolling off to flop back on his side of the pillow bank.  Steve immediately found his hand again and clutched it possessively.

“Can I ask you something?” James began.

“Sure. Shoot.”

“How’d you know I was gay?”

He felt Steve squeeze his hand reflexively. “Ho. Oh…  Well, I didn’t actually.  Not really. I thought you were attractive… and uh, I guess while we were talking… Hmm…” He seemed to be working it out to himself. “Honestly, I liked you and I didn’t know. And maybe, ah, maybe, I was having some of those ‘big strong guy who rescued me’ kinda mushy feelings—“

“Yeah?” James grinned.

“Maybe. And I swear, that’s so not me.” He gave James another little shove. “Anyway. I thought maybe, but I also thought it might be wishful thinking, so I just went for it trying to flirt a little. And you changed the subject, so I thought, ‘oh crap, snake eyes’! But then you asked me to lunch and, well,  bibbity-bobbity-boo…” He laughed. “You do read as pretty straight.”

James couldn’t think of what to say to that.  The weight lifting, the gym — getting bigger had been a defense mechanism since the beginning of puberty, as had honing his manners and body language. That later, to find it was appealing to so many gay men seemed the strangest irony. Nope, the whole mess was better left alone…

Instead, he squeezed Steve’s hand and leaned in to kiss him properly.  The smaller man melted into him, soft lips yielding, head tilting back in the pillows.  James felt Steve’s free hand reach up to curl around the back of his neck, and he pressed in more.  It had been so damned long…

On screen, poor Matt Murdock was getting his clock cleaned, but James Barnes was a million miles away softly kissing Steve’s throat and drunk on his warmth and perfect close scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's been a crap week and I'm out of quips right now.  
> Not sure why I'm still writing this, but that's the mystery of fic, isn't it?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And absolutely no one at Xavier's noticed Steve was wearing pajama bottoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd finish with one last chapter, but work is back in full force, so maybe two? Pretty sure this ridiculous stinker has gone on long enough!

James hadn’t touched, hadn’t kissed anyone in so long… On the inside the only way part of his stupid brain would frame it was like a bear coming out of hibernation. He wanted to claw apart rotting logs for grubs or shred a bee hive, stinging insects be damned and and bury his face and mouth in sweet nectar. 

Oh wow, Barnes. You seriously need to get laid. What are you? Yogi Bear?

The non-feral side of him, the actual thinking and feeling part, was trying so hard to be slow, to savor this.  The mundane textures and smells of laundry, of close sheets… the more secret smells of Steve’s skin and hair soft from the shower, and especially his breath with the little whiff of coffee and the spices from lunch.  Steve was smaller;  as much as James wanted to kiss and touch, and oh, god, maybe ruck up his shirt and sweater and run his arms up his lithe bare back to pull him in while he took over his mouth, he also wanted to not smother or overwhelm him. 

He compromised for scooting in on his side, leaning half over him and lazily going from mouth to throat, one arm pillowed under Steve’s head and the other along his back. Steve let his top leg — the one not encumbered with the stupid cast — tangle between James’s and he wriggled forward to press his whole body close, with a little breathy whimper. Oh man… At that, James couldn’t help it. His arm tightened, pulling Steve in, and he deepened the kiss, feeling the spreading aching warmth in his middle.

On screen, there were gunshots and screaming and Steve suddenly giggled.

James broke back to look at him with a curious smile.

“Is this what it’s like, necking in New York?” Steve laughed.

Barnes considered. “Maybe in Newark?”

Steve grinned and let his head loll in the pillow before gazing at James under half closed eyes. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“Been training hard.”

James let his head drop too, reaching over to run a hand over Steve’s hair and cup his neck, kneading gently. Both seemed to know they needed to take a breather. James felt no urge to press it further. He liked Steve. And possibly it was the circumstances of their meeting or the other’s size or both, but he felt fiercely protective.  Let Steve make it clear if he wanted to go on. Barnes wasn’t about to urge or blunder past where he felt welcome. He was pretty damned happy right where he was. Maybe too freaking happy… 

Christ. 

Beyond arousal it was so fucking good just to touch and be touched by someone he liked. The easy affection and  play of skin on skin… For so long, he wouldn’t admit this to himself so staunchly, he felt tears pricking behind his eyes, and the realization shocked him.  In moments of loneliness in the cabin, or when he saw Scott hug his little girl or Sam with his arm around a date, he felt the loss and craving so strong a lump would form in his throat. He wondered if there was a tipping point, where you were so out of practice, so contact starved, you became just an untouchable ball of neurosis, not capable of faking normal long enough to meet people or date anymore… Goddamn anxiety was fun. 

Presently, Steve stroked James’s hair too, pushing a long lock out of his eyes and raking some behind his ear with a soft scratch. He looked down and pursed his lips with a small smile…  …hesitant? 

Barnes blinked, waiting…

“Um. Would, ah…Would you want to spoon a little?” Steve laughed quietly having finally gotten it out.

James’s felt his heart ping and eyes go wide. “Yeah. Big or small?”

 

 

And that’s how it was that some hours later, the pair were found dozing, fully clothed and nested snug together in front of an “Are You Still Watching?” screen by a bemused redhead.

“Rogers, I knew you were a wild man rooming with Barton, but you just move to fast for me. The hookers, the blow…”

“Not to mention the bar fights and mud wrestling.” Clint added helpfully.

“Wha—?” Steve blinked at them a moment, trying to wake, then turned his head and saw James yawning widely, unconcerned. He wormed back down into the warmth of the covers and larger man’s chest, letting his head rest back against Barnes’s thick bicep. “Aw, you guys are just jealous you don’t know how to have a good time.” He mumbled, still muzzy. “You had any sense of adventure you’d get your asses in here and join the love.”

James watched Natasha scrunch up her nose at this, then felt himself smirk a little when Clint did the same before pausing and looking back over his shoulder curiously, seeming to reconsider…

James lifted the blankets in invitation and Steve, right on cue, beckoned to Clint hypnotically, “All are welcome… Join us…Become one with the spoon…”

Clint threw a pillow at them and fled to the common room. They both cracked up.

“You jokers gonna get out of bed and come to town with us?” Natasha hollered.

“Aw, ma… Do we hafta?” Steve whined back.

“Yes! Your buddy is the one with wheels.” Natasha shot back. “Bat your lashes and ask him nicely to play tour guide!”

Steve wrestled around in their nest so he could face James eye to eye. “I’d like to formally apologize on behalf of my roommates.”

“Noted.”

“They’re animals.”

“They seem nice enough.”

Steve shook his head and patted James. “Oh you dear sweet summer child. You have no idea. Animals.”

“Will they soil my truck?”

“I don’t think so. Not ‘Tasha at least. We could put Clint in the back to be on the safe side.”

“Okay. Let’s go to town.”

 

 

Clint somehow had road rash on his scruffy chin. A big, perfect oval, strawberry red scrape.

“I had no idea snow was so abrasive.” Steve wondered twisting around to examine it.  He was sandwiched in the middle of the truck cab while James drove and Natasha sat on Clint’s lap on the passenger side.

“I didn’t think I could hit those speeds on a beginner’s slope.” Clint rolled his eyes. “I mean it’s not fucking Filbert or Lombard.”

“Lombard is a quadruple black diamond slope.  I don’t even ski and I know that.” 

“Ski boots suck.  I don’t think they’re that different than what they did to your leg.” Clint told Steve. “Seriously, we should go back and see if you can just stick that cast in the ski clip thingies. You’d probably be fine.”

“Will they just let you ride the lift?”

“Sure, but you gotta show a little leg to get a ride back down on the snowcat.”

“Oh crap. I guess I’m out then.”

“What? You’ve got two legs. Hug a tree and stick the good one out Rogers. I’ll loan you my stockings.”

James snickered as the discussion devolved into the three trying to classify every hill in San Francisco as if they were a piste.

  

He drove them by the city park where the ice skating pond was so Steve could see it with the holiday lights on in the evening, then around the main town square to point out some of the historic buildings.  All of the downtown area had been taken over to appeal to skiers or visitors to the national park, so everything was covered in Christmas lights and every available space was a taken up with pretty retail — coffee, ice cream and chocolate, gift shops, cafes and restaurants, artisan pottery, ski and outdoor gear, winter wear…  A garland decorated horse drawn sled even stood waiting outside a large steakhouse that had once been an 1880’s hotel.

As it turned out, Clint was all for the steakhouse for dinner. “‘Tasha and I wanted to take you out.  How about it? Is it good?”

“Sure. Thank you.”  James smiled feeling Steve bump against him.

“Is it haunted?  Every old gold rush building needs to come with a ghost. By the way, all this tourist stuff?  We’re checking it all out.” Nat pointed down the main strip. “I thought I’d warn you now in case it’s embarrassing to a local.”

James laughed. “Knock yourself out.”

He didn’t care.  Nor was he embarrassed.  The park crew and Stark might grouse about tourists now and then, but Celeste didn’t really have a townie versus tourist snobbery going.  Locals frequented the off main street businesses because they were more practical, or just less expensive, but if Steve and his friends were here for vacation, let them eat in the hotel with the saloon bar or buy fuzzy moccasins and piñon nut chocolates and enjoy themselves. 

And he liked the little group. Their constant banter, that they enveloped him in on the joke or discussion of the moment.  It was unusual for him, but he felt relaxed with them for the short period they’d been introduced.  He decided to roll with it.

Over dinner Clint and Natasha tried to explain beginner ski lessons to Steve.

“Do you ski?” Natasha asked James.

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

“Ok, good. You’re both on the same page.” Clint nodded. “So surprise! It’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible.” Steve scoffed. “I’ve seen the Olympics.” 

“No, no. That’s all CGI. Jesus dude, in your profession, I’d expect you to notice. But skiing is an elaborate hoax. Like the moon landing. You see this?” He pointed to his chin. “I have proof.”

“Proof that you’re an idiot that didn’t listen to the instructor.” Natasha kissed the side of Clint’s chin. “He’s right about the boots though. It really is weird to not be able to move your ankles.”

“I have no idea.” Steve sighed dramatically.

Natasha gave him a withering smirk and kicked him under the table.

“Ow! Okay, okay!”

 

………………………..

 

“So, movie night?  How’d that go?” Sam slid his card over to the bartender and turned towards Barnes.

“Pretty good.” James nodded quietly looking at his shoes.

“Yeah? That dopey-ass smile says more than pretty good.” Sam raised an eyebrow…

…But James also saw him cut his eyes at the pack around them at Xavier’s.  Sure, it started out quiet with just James, Sam and Scott meeting, but then Tony and the rest of his search and rescue group showed up, tossing their gear bags down in a pile in the mud room entryway. James was glad Sam was trying to be discreet. Stark’s crew was coming off the day shift after being on for five, so Wednesday or not, they’d be all over the bar like it was Friday night.

Several of the team hit the pool table while Tony ordered a bunch of food and a round of drinks.

“Belt in,” Sam muttered to James and Scott keeping an eye on Stark.

“What Smoky Bear? You feeling left out?” Tony cracked.

“Not even a little.”

“I’ll have you and your little isle of misfit toys know, Peter over there just got engaged. Engaged.  If you think for one minute I’ll bother to stay here and eavesdrop on whatever adorably awkward Animal Planet courtship ritual Barnes trotted out the other day, you are sadly misshapen. I’m hear to buy rounds and help my boy who can pull the trigger CELEBRATE.”  He roared the last word, hefting two pitchers and the guys from his team whooped and whistled.  A pair of them fell on Peter, put him in a headlock and noogied him mercilessly. “Hey! Unhand him you ruffians or no shots! Don’t make me send you to bed without tequila!” Stark scolded, hurrying off with the drinks.

“Great. Maybe that’ll keep him occupied.” Sam muttered returning to James. “Where were we?”

“Movie night.” Scott put in helpfully.”

“It was fine. Okay?” James huffed and straightened. “Look, you can ask him yourself. They’re headed over here tonight.” He glanced from Tony’s group, to the clock, to the door.

“Alright. I believe you.” Sam shrugged, watching Scott head over to the darts game that had started. He waited until his assistant was out of earshot. “Mostly I just wanted to, I don’t know. Check in?”

“Check in?”

“Yeah.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see that it was fun. ‘Cause the guy’s just here for a visit. You know?”

James did know. It was something he’d been wrestling with off and on since the movie date.  In some twisted way, if they’d just gotten off and walked away, maybe it would have been easier.  As it was though, he really liked Steve and he didn’t want to think that he was getting soppy for the first guy to throw him a cuddle after a long drought — though definitely, all laid out, that was exactly what it could be reduced to.

No.

It wasn’t like that. 

Steve was funny and sweet and more than that, he was another creative.  James wanted to ask him about his illustrations. He could see himself being able to talk about writing with someone else who wrestled with an artistic process.  Or was he projecting that?  No, no, it was too soon to know really, but it was certainly possible. All the ingredients and motivation were there to explore…

Except that he’d only be in the area a few more days.

Fuck.

“They’re here till Sunday.” James agreed. “And yeah, I keep reminding myself.”  He twisted his mouth. “I’ve been thinking you’re right. I need to get out more.” He muttered. “S’not like there’s a big dating pool around here.”

“I hear that.” Sam agreed. “Speak of the devil.”

James broke into a grin seeing Steve and his friends enter, picking their way between the haphazard pile of Tony’s crew’s duffels.  He hurried over, pecked Steve’s cheek and offered his elbow to help him maneuver the cast and crutch between the piles of junk. 

Steve linked arms and leaned into him with a smile “You think maybe there should have been two crutches?”

“Where’s the challenge in that?”

Natasha glanced around at the neon beer signs, dark paneling and moth-eaten taxidermy of mule deer and elk. “Quaint.”

“Wow!” Clint bounced. “You think they have a mechanical bull?”

 

 

Steve’s gang folded themselves in perfectly with the group at Xavier’s. James introduced everyone around and the next thing he knew, Natasha was skunking Logan from Tony’s crew at nine ball on the pool table and Clint was excitedly grilling Stark about the helicopter, mistaking him for the pilot — which Tony encouraged. Steve and Sam found a table and the artist pulled out his landscape sketchbook and was picking Sam’s brain about various bio and geologic features of the park.  James ordered a round, and sat with them, listening, content.

Later, Sam got drafted into darts with Scott, and James and Steve were alone. 

“What did you guys do today?”

“Oh, I gotta show you.” Steve pulled out his phone and handed it to James.

The three had taken a shuttle over to the other ski lodge where there was a sled dog tour.  It was something Clint had heard about when he and Natasha tried skiing, and they immediately made a reservation since it was something Steve could do.  On the phone were a jillion pictures of shaggy sled dogs jumping on Steve and his friends, curled in their houses or the sleds-eye view of a long train of dog tails and butts.  “It was like trying to take a dozen dogs for a walk at once — they got so excited.  And they’re all so friendly. I don’t know if I liked the tour or getting to walk around and pet dogs beforehand more.”

“If I tried to do that with Turk or Deedee they’d probably go in two directions and split the sled down the middle.  But, wow — I didn’t know that was there. Now I’m wondering if that’s where Turk came from. Did they let you try to drive it?”

“Nah.  We just sat — kinda stacked in like a bobsled team.  You go through the woods and on a couple straightaways, but with all of us the dogs didn’t get much speed going.” He laughed. “Deedee is white?”

“Yeah.”

“She found me. It scared me at first — her head blocked out the light. Then she started whining like crazy and licking my face.”

James smiled a little and nodded.  He was used to this. A lot of accident victims tried to piece together exactly what happened to them and when. “She’s a sweet girl. About the size of a cow, but super sweet.  She’s not as loud as Turk — more the quietly stick nearby type. And she loves new people. When Sam or anyone comes over she has to surf the room and make sure she hangs by all the guests.”

Steve grinned. “She doesn’t want anyone to feel left out.”

“Exactly. You want to come see them?  I can fix lunch. Show you the cabin and some of the area on that side of the mountain.”

Steve perked up. “That sounds great. Nat and Clint bitched about it, but they really want to try skiing again only they feel like they’re ditching me. Ah, I — I don’t know what your usual schedule is. I don’t want to interrupt your work?”

“It’s flexible, and I’m a bit ahead right now.” James smiled. “Bring your books. If you want to work on a landscape, you can have a heated truck cab to warm up in.”

 

The evening chugged along in a blur of beer, billiards and darts.  Clint got banned for being a ringer after he threw a bullseye over his shoulder, which led to most of Tony’s crew demanding that he show them how it was done. Popping some money in the jukebox, Natasha danced first with the bartender, then with a quiet, unassuming balding man she plucked from the bar.

James made sure to point out Tony and the rest of the EMTs to Steve in case he remembered any of them and wanted to piece them into his mental timeline…

But the artist didn’t recall any of it.

“It was basically like a rendition kidnapping.” Stark told him. “We grabbed you, got your butt in the chopper and hauled ass.”

“Wait a minute. Wait.” Steve stared at Tony, then wheeled on James. “I rode in a fucking HELICOPTER?” He smacked his chest.

“Um, yeah?”

“Oh my god. Fuck. How’d I miss that?”

“Drugs?”

“This is so unfair!” Steve looked bereft. He turned to Stark. “Can I call do-over?”

Tony puffed up and cocked his head to look down at him. “No can do. Emergencies only.”

The bartender, Wade, heard this as he delivered chicken wings and more pitchers. “Shut up Tony. He’s not the pilot, kid.  You need to sweet talk super dad over there. Phil Coulson.” He pointed to the man two-stepping with Natasha. “Although I think your buddy is already on it.”

 

 

……………………………

 

 

“I wanna talk to you. You.” Stark poked Steve in the chest abruptly where he stood talking to Sam at the bar. The night was wrapping up and people were calling rides and wrestling into their coats. James had gone to the bathroom, and Sam had watched as Tony strode up drunkenly, almost as though he’d been waiting for just this opportunity.

“Yes?”

 Words began spilling out of Stark.

“Barnes isn’t some man-whore kind of gay. Okay? He doesn’t jump in the sack like a party boy — in fact, people said he moves like… …Like a glacier. D’you understand me?  He’s different. And he looks all big and buff, but he’s like Ferdinand, quietly smelling the flowers. What I’m saying is, be nice.  Be considerate or I’ll strap you back on that board and chuck you back out where he found you.” He concluded, wagging a finger in Steve’s face.

The smaller man held up his hands agreeably. “You got it. Ferdinand. Big sweetheart.”

“‘Zactly.” Stark slurred and put an arm around Steve’s shoulder, practically knocking him over in a rough half hug.

When Steve abandoned his crutch in favor of grabbing the edge of the bar with both hands for support, Sam started to intercede, but Stark only stepped back, pointed at Steve muttering "I got my eye on you," before smacking him on the back and wandering away towards his crew.

“Where did that come from?” Scott retrieved the fallen crutch and handed it to Steve.

Wilson was baffled. “Fuck if I know.  Hey, don’t listen to him,” He told Steve. “He’s drunk.  Apparently some brand of soppy weird drunk.”

“It’s okay.” Steve laughed.

 

In gathering their gear bags and putting on their coats, the EMT's things got tangled and messy. Peter spilled an unzipped duffel and Stark and Scott bent over trying to help sort it.

“Whose nerd-fodder is this?” Stark slurred holding up a dog-eared and worn pocket paperback of Carbon Star 1.

“It was by your bag.” Scott pointed out, looking confused.

“Well ’s not mine!” Tony huffed.

“Maybe Wade’s?” Peter asked.

“He keeps his porn behind the bar.” Logan chimed in.

“How do you know that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answer to.”

“Point.”

“He who smelt it dealt it — must be Lang’s”

Scott did a double take, clearly torn between pointing out that he hadn’t ‘smelt it’ — Tony had — and talking like an adult. “It’s not mine. I have the hardbacks. James signed them for me and everything.”

“Nerd.”

Lang shrugged. “I liked them. And how often do you know the author?”

“Fine. Give it here. Can sort it out when we’re sober.” And Tony quickly shoved the book into his jacket and zipped it up. “Who’s driving?”

“None of your asses.” Sam spat. “You fuckers do this to me and Scott every time. Get in the rover and no puking — I got Pepper on speed dial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, Tony, what is your deal? Also, go home. You're drunk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, remember this silly thing? Anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't really write sex scenes.  
> And all I gotta say is if the future of our species depends on these two dinguses managing to breed, we are so fucked.

 

 

 

 

Sam leaned against the side of his rover watching —profoundly unimpressed— as Tony barfed into a snow bank on the side of FM 15.

He’d already dropped Logan off and Scott was stuck driving Peter and the other drunk yahoos in his SUV.  

Sam sighed, Stark’s cell held to his ear.  “Yeah Pepper. I’m gonna do you a favor and not haul this hot mess into your home. He can sober up at the park station.”

 

“I got this…” Tony mumbled from where he hung, feet dragging, arm draped over Sam’s shoulders.

“Sure you do.” Wilson agreed, steering them through the park’s office to deposit Tony on the couch. Stark grunted and huffed, shifting around to try and get comfortable after his barely semi-controlled collapse. “Take your coat off, dumb ass. Maybe your shoes.” Sam rolled his eyes and yanked the laces loose on Tony’s boots.

“Whatever… _mom_ …” The EMT muttered, but he hunched up enough to wriggle out of the lumpy snow jacket, before flopping back.

“And what was that bullshit earlier with Barnes’s little dude? Tony? Hey?” Sam pulled the balled up coat out from under Stark then drug the throw blanket off the back of the sofa to cover him. "You ain't asleep yet. Answer me."

“Noffin’. Jus’ stuff.”

Fishing out Tony’s phone and wallet to set on the side table, Sam found the mangled Carbon Star paperback in the jacket. “Stuff, huh?” He grimaced and began tugging off the drunk man’s boots.

Tony didn’t open his eyes, unable to resist his steady sink towards sleep… “You know why Barnes lef’ New York? Right? ’is frens made fun of his book… Made _fun_ of it — of him.  I fuckin' love tha fuckin’ book… Some frens huh?”

Frowning, Sam lay the paperback on Tony’s chest and watched as the search and rescue captain hugged it to himself as he curled on his side to snore.

 

………………………

 

Outside Xavier’s, James acted as Steve’s second crutch, giving him a steady arm as they walked to Barnes’ truck.

“I think I could talk him into it!” Clint was preening. “Really. He almost made his second throw —“

Natasha smirked and shook her head. 

“What is he babbling about?” Steve laughed.

“He thinks that hotshot he met in there will give him a helicopter ride for showing him how to aim a dart over the shoulder."

Steve shook his head. “He had no mercy on me.”

Clint straightened. “You didn’t show him the secret straight wrist kung-fu throw. Also, you already rode in it!  It’s not our fault you weren’t paying attention with your whole ‘ow my poor leg’ drama.”

Steve rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated laugh.

Natasha smirked at James. “Do you want to tell him?”

“Nah. Be funnier if someone calls Tony on it.”  He unlocked the truck and opened the door for them.

 

On the ride back to the Arrow Lodge, they batted around the next days plans, arriving at, yes, Nat and Clint wanted to try the ski slopes again and were glad Steve and James wanted to hang out.

“Please, go draw snow or pet huskies!”

“Should I go too, Nat?” Clint asked wide-eyed as they pulled into the lot. “Do you want him to teach me his rugged mountain man ways?”

She snickered and tickled him until he fled the truck to the front door with her fast on his heels.

James watched, smiling, then looked down and saw Steve doing the same.  Catching his eye, Steve leaned in awkwardly, before the cast slid over and he toppled against him on the truck’s bench seat. Still, he managed a little kiss on the side of James mouth.  James simply turned, corralled both arms around him and found his lips, pressing him back along the vacated passenger seat. The hungry bear part of his brain was taking over again, and it was a thorough deep kiss before Barnes realized maybe having the smaller man under him in a cramped truck cab was a bit rough and smother-y.

But when he leaned back, Steve was breathless and dazed, but smiling. “Ah. You want to come in? You could stay if you like — unless your dogs...?”

Oh. Oh. Oh.  James blinked and felt the corner of his mouth hitch up. He went in for another kiss before chaining some down what he could reach of Steve’s neck with his coat and scarf.

“I let them eat and go out before I came to the bar.” He murmured, kissing under the artist’s jaw and snuffling in his scent through the wool knit and flannel liner. 

“That’s — ah — that’s really good.” Steve huffed and shivered as James nipped his neck. “Oh man.” He laughed and squirmed back as though it took monumental effort to make himself do so. “Let’s get in, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

Natasha and Clint has vanished into their room and closed the door.

Convenient, James thought.   He helped Steve limp to the couch and out of his jacket and scarf before he shucked off his own coat and outerwear.

And then it was back to what started in the truck.

James levered the smaller man back on the couch and leaned over him without putting his weight down. He kept his inside arm around him and used the other hand to cup his jaw, stroke his hair and chest so the side on the edge of the couch was open where Steve could shift or get space.  He wondered if straight guys did that? Was he an asshole for assuming straight guys were never considerate? Maybe he was being over cautious, but he’d never fooled around with a guy as small as Steve and regardless of how much the artist was making him want to gobble him up like the big bad wolf, he still felt that sharp protective ache he’d felt when he’d cared for him at the cabin.  

Ug. Barnes. No.

He’s a visitor. Just be a grown up guy and enjoy this now.  

Just this now. Don’t let the heavy mushy stuff leak in.

If Steve had any claustrophobic reservations, he sure as hell didn’t show it.  He melted into James’s deep kisses with only a few soft whimpers of pleasure and encouragement. His deft, long-fingered hands stroked and explored James's shoulders, back, neck. He parted his lips and teased with the tip of his tongue until James caught on and pressed his in to explore.  

James rucked a hand up under Steve’s shirt and slowly circled a nipple lightly with his calloused thumb.  Steve’s breath hitched and he rocked his hips up, making a muffled desperate noise.

Panting a little, James forced himself back.  It was too good.  The warm close smell, all secret sweet with Steve’s hotel soap skin and beery breath. The steady thudding heart under him and welcoming mouth. 

“Hey.” Beneath him, between his arms, Steve tilted his head and smiled at him, breathing hard.

“Hey.” James smiled back. He glanced at the open bedroom door. “Do you want to —?” 

Oh Christ. He used to be at least sort of better at this. …Or at some point hadn't nailing important stuff down first been a little more perfunctory and habit? Not so fraught?  God you dork. Quit making it a big deal.

Steve was nodding encouragingly. “More of this. Maybe oral?”

This fucking guy.  “Yes.” James gasped with a laugh. “That’s what I was thinking.” He blushed and let his head drop to Steve’s chest in relief.

Climbing off the couch, they both stood and Steve stumbled, caught himself, then twisted around awkwardly looking for the crutch.

James opened his arms and held them out in offering.

“Ok. Yeah, fuck it. Why not?”  Blushing, Steve reached up and hugged James’ neck then exhaled sharply as the larger man scooped him up under the knees, cast and all. 

James took his weight, knees bent, core tight — all business like in rescue training.  And for just a moment, Steve perched in his arms, stiff and unsure, then squeezed and buried his flushed face against James neck, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he completely melted. “Oh Jesus…” He sounded giddy. 

“What?” James grinned as he strode with him into the bedroom.

“Nothing. Nothing.” He shook his head fiercely, face still hidden, voice muffled in James’s shoulder. 

“No really?”  James turned his head, curious, trying to catch his eye.

Steve was laughing at himself so hard he almost squeaked before saying frantically. “I think I might like this as much as making out.” He groaned. “Not a word. Please don’t tell Natasha or Clint I said that.”

James giggled.

Fucking giggled. 

He felt like a furnace of glowing coals.  His chest was full of dancing molten helium he felt so 'effing happy at this, and for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he focused on carrying Steve to the bed and giving him a gentle long squeeze before carefully setting him down. Then he leaned in...“Maybe we can do it again at the cabin and they won’t be there,” He told Steve softly in his ear before kissing his cheek.

This had Steve, flushed pink, biting back smiles while James took off their shoes and the plastic bag over the cast.  After a moments consideration, James unbuttoned and shucked off his flannel shirt too in the dry air of the heated room, revealing his base layer, before stretching out by Steve and nipping his jaw.

“Ooooo… Silky.” Steve grinned running his hand along James’s arm clad in the thin black long johns. “You wear that for me?” He batted his lashes.

James cracked up and, grabbing the smaller man, rolled them over. Steve tried gamely to wrestle back, laughing, huffing and getting a few good shoves in, but between his size and maneuvering the cast, he was hopelessly outmatched.  He ended up pinned between Barnes’ thighs. Panting, he tried a couple squirms and breaks, but finally gave up happily and smiled up at James. His hands went up, running over the silk base layer hugging the larger man’s chest like a superhero’s spandex, and then stroked down to his waist, where he tugged, rucking the thin shirt up to get hands on bare skin. James peeled off the undershirt obligingly and eagerly helped Steve with his.

This was good. They scooted in on their sides, Steve half on top of him to kiss, skin to skin. 

And later, spreading Steve out and making him muffle noises into his arms while James swallowed him down, was equally good, but not quite as good as after, curling on their sides and slotting their legs together.  Not quite as good to James as the soft feeling of a content relaxed body against his, no demands to be met, and a nothing ahead but sleep and another day together.

 

  

……………………………..

 

 

“I’ll warn you now, the dogs will be pretty crazy. Spending the night alone.” James yawned and stretched in the hotel bed, flexing his toes and letting his head loll in the pillow to look over at Steve with half closed eyes.

The blonde’s hair was sticking out all over, and he too yawned before wriggling in close to James and putting an arm over his chest.  He smiled up at him sleepily. “Poor dogs. I’ll tell them I’m sorry, okay?”  

“It’s fine. Breakfast will fix everything with them.”

Steve’s eyes were drooping shut. “James?”

“Hmm?”

“I think you’re friend Tony was kind of drunk last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve shook his head with a little laugh. “It made me think -- I should tell you… I do sort of know your writing.”

James blinked. “You do?”

“It’s kind of silly, but yeah.  After we met, I googled you and then I recognized your book title.  Turns out a while back I got a commission online to draw characters for a fanfic. And I didn’t know what it was all about, so I read Carbon Star before I read the fic.  I really liked it —“

James was suddenly very very awake. “A fanfic?” He managed to keep his voice neutral, but his mouth had gone dry.

“Yeah, it was over a year ago.” Steve murmured, still too sleep muzzy to have picked up on James’s tension. “So it's like the fanfic is based on it, but it’s goofy and has a life of it’s own. ’S a sex farce, like Barbarella? Do you read that stuff?”

James found he wasn't in bed anymore.  He was standing in the room, gathering his clothes, his chest pounding so hard he could feel it in his temples and wrists. His vision seemed like a vaseline blur of white morning light and it was taking every ounce of his concentration to perform the physical task of finding his clothes and picking them up and then putting his pants on.  

“What’re you doing. James? What is it?”

James suddenly flashed on the spaceman cartoons in Steve’s sketchbook. How many torn out pages were there?

“You read fanfic making fun of Carbon Star?”

“I sort of had to to do the commission. Have you seen it? It was really funny…”

“And you drew…” James shook his head, awkwardly holding onto a chair while he worked his feet back into his shoes. He couldn’t look at Steve. This wasn’t happening. 

What the fuck happened to last night?  

It was like a nightmare.

“James?  Come here. Please. What’s going on?”

But James was long gone before Steve could even wrestle his broken leg out of the bed.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Tony has all the backstory in this!! He’s secretly a HUGE Carbon Star nerd! He might literally want to beat the snot out of Steve if he thought he was toying with James’s feels. He wants to celebrate any milestone his team has because he’s been so affected when any of his crew has been or injured (and in one case killed)! And he especially wanted to celebrate Peter getting engaged because he’s secretly TERRIFIED to propose to Pepper. I don’t know how Tony’s motivation ended up being the most informed in this, but here we are!
> 
> Why no, I don't want to discuss Endgame and I might be returning to my WIPs as a deflection. Why do you ask??


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go invade a cabin in the woods, okay?

 

Steve hit the floor hard - a painful jar on the broken leg - but still made it to the hotel hall to call after James, who was rounding the far corner into the stairs.  Hobbling back to the window, he cranked it open, twisting his head out to spy James’ truck.

“James!”

But it spat a gust of frozen exhaust and was gone.

The phone. His phone.

He looked around the suite frantically.  Natasha and Clint had slipped out quietly to their ski outing without waking them, so they were no help.  He bit his lip and crutched quickly back to the bed room, his leg now throbbing.

His clothes were all over the floor or waded up under the covers where James had peeled them off of him. Steve felt a dry hard lump form in his throat.

What had he done? How had he stepped on some unseen kill switch? The sensation didn’t even form into coherent thoughts spelled out in words or sentences at this point.  It just felt.  Confusion. Loss. Shock. Hurt. 

Phone.

Where the fuck had he left his phone?

Spotting his jacket on the floor, he flinched internally.  Steeling himself, he planted the crutch by the bed and slowly climbed down it so the cast went out behind him and he could make it to his knees. Crawling forward, he tugged the jacket to him and fished the phone out of the pocket.

Cell number. No answer.

Landline. The machine picked up.

Steve swallowed. “James? I-I don’t know if you’re going home… I don’t know what happened. What I said? Please call me back? I didn’t mean to say something…”  Steve faltered, freezing up and unsure. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean to make you mad, or hurt or…” 

The machine beeped and cut him off.

“Fuck.”  His voice cracked as he said it.

Sitting splay legged on the lodge floor, naked but for the heavy cast, Steve shook and scrubbed frustrated tears from his eyes.

 

 

Sam Wilson expected his morning to be about coffee.  Coffee for him, and shoving coffee, aspirin, and Gatorade at Stark until he could be shamed into the shower. Then hopefully talking Scott or someone into dumping him back at Pepper’s. 

What he didn’t expect was to see the small blonde fumble down the Arrow Lodge shuttle’s steps outside his window, and then begin a determined struggle to crutch his ass across the icy parking lot to his office door.

“What the fuck.”

He skipped his coat and hurried outside to help before the dumb ass broke his other leg.

 

“He literally ran out.  I was sleepy — maybe it came out wrong — but it was like a switch. One moment great and the next he was grabbing clothes and flying out the door. I don’t know what I said — and I’ve tried calling…” Steve was saying.

They were sitting in the Park Service’s office around Sam’s desk, voices lowered as Tony snored behind them. Sam poured them both more coffee. 

“We don’t talk about his writing.” Wilson shook his head. “And I don’t mean that in a snotty artist sorta way. He just gets real quiet about it — waves it off as work — and we talk about the mountain, or the dogs.  I keep the dogs when he goes out of town. I figure he’s pretty shy about it. Seems like he can be about a few things, and you know, the creative process and all, so I let it go.”

Steve nodded, trying to school his mouth into a neutral line. “I’m worried though… He won’t answer the phone. It’s  been hours now. He would have made it back home by now, right? And that’s where he’d go with the dogs and all, right?”

Sam nodded, then noticed Tony awake on the couch behind Steve. The EMT looked like a half-baked shit lasagne and was glaring daggers at Steve. Rusty, tetanus-covered, murderous daggers.

“What’s wrong sunshine? We wake you up?”

“300 decibels of stupid woke me up.” Stark shoved himself to his feet, and although not a tall man, when he rounded on Steve and stepped squarely into his space, toe to cast, he towered like a mountain. “You don’t _know_ what you said?” He growled.

“Whoa… whoa. Stark. Sit your ass down.”

But Steve only met Tony’s gaze, wide-eyed.  “I told him I did a fan art commission. That I read and liked his book — that —“

“That it was _funny_?”

 

Somehow, with the most calm and rational authority one can muster while still in one’s bathrobe, Sam insisted Tony sit down, drink coffee, and tell them what the hell it was he knew.

Stark ate three aspirin and drank his first cup in two gulps before he deigned to look at Steve and sighed dramatically.  “Do you know what Shipwreck is?”

Steve swallowed. “I’m from the bay area — yeah, I know about it.”

“Well I don’t, so start at the beginning.” Sam waved at Stark impatiently.

And Tony proceeded to explain, as though recounting a conspiracy theory, how the world’s worst boyfriend set up Barnes by having his first novel lampooned in public at the Bell House in Brooklyn.  The story included several bizarre theories as to what might motivate such an action, (including a bet between friends for who could stage the most crushing break up) as well as a passionate case for why Tony’s particular theory must be the correct one. But the conclusion was the same: A few months after the event, Barnes had resigned from EMT service and moved to a mountain cabin on private land near the national park.

 

“Okay, but Barnes told me you asked him about his EMT work. Why’d you fake it like you didn’t already know?” Sam accused.

Tony huffed, rolled his eyes and made an exasperated face. “I didn’t want to make him self conscious. Celebrities always say they feel strange about people they don’t know knowing things about them.”

“Oh my god. You’re a total fan boy nerd.” Sam pointed, chuckling. “You are THE fan boy nerd.”

Steve frowned. “Online stalker more like.”

“Well, duh! I mean, how exactly do you think I know all this?” Tony turned his head the merest fraction and gave the artist a sharp eye as though seriously reconsidering Steve’s basic intelligence.

“I don’t know! Magical fan-boy telepathy or something?” Steve asked miserably. “And actually, yeah, why should you know? You just said it was his first book and a stupid bar event across the country. It should have been a blip and forgotten.”

Stark leaned forward, “Shoulda been, but no.  That’s the worst part. That Brock asshole told the organizers he was coming,” he hissed.  “They wanted to introduce him — drag him on stage — after the reading.  If you go look in the blog entries or listen to the podcast—“

“There’s a fucking podcast?” Sam barked disbelieving.

“Every event. Yes. And when that prick told them Barnes bailed, they LOVED that! Spun it into a joke that at their infamous event, the writing, was so so _whatever_ that it sent _even the authors running_.  Everyone in the audience knew, and some were fans and happened to notice that THAT was when he moved.”

 

Steve blanched. 

He felt sick hearing this.  He didn’t have anxiety. Not really. His closest experience had been leaving home for college, where it had sideswiped him and he didn’t know what was happening to him.  Like lots of the other freshmen, he’d been so excited about the changes: a dorm room like a first apartment, working out his schedule and classes, the digital equipment he’d get to use. All of it was so great and he’d even gotten a scholarship to help pay for it…  …But his father had passed away five years earlier, and while walking to his room across the quad one night,  Steve had a stabbing thought about something he really wanted to tell him…  And the next thing he knew, something had pinged in his head and his chest seized up and he couldn’t catch his breath and he was sure he was having a heart attack.  Some students on the steps had grabbed the RA and he’d ended up at a local ER, his mom holding his hand, relieved and burning with embarrassment.  The doctor explained panic attacks to him, gave him a 6 month prescription of low dose Prozac until he got into the swing of things and that was that.  Later on, talking to friends in school, he heard several similar stories, and the whole thing easily got filed away as pretty normal and no big deal.

Steve couldn’t imagine what it was like to have that sensation be common place, a daily companion, waiting to rip the rug out from under you perhaps just after morning coffee or maybe in the shower or just, you know, wherever.  He found himself thinking of the odd kids who’d been bullied in high school.  You were supposed to withstand that knowing you’d get out of school. Grown adults didn’t do that kind of crap, right?  The soft caricature Steve had in his head — the one where it was cute that Barnes was this big and burly sensitive writer — came into clearer focus.  This was a guy tough enough to be an EMT in New York while tamping down and tight rope walking the open mine field his brain chemicals spread out for him… And to become a published author to boot… James wasn’t something novel and cute. Jesus. He deserved more respect than that. 

Steve realized he’d been staring at the table top and he cleared his throat and looked up at Stark. “You know I didn’t mean for it to — I was telling him because of what you said. I didn’t know it would hurt him or freak him out — but I thought, oh, I should tell him this goofy connection just so we know the air is totally clear.”

Tony shrugged. “Still looks like you shit the bed from here.”

“Lovely.” Steve growled. “Do you even know about the Buck Starkers comic?”

Sam coughed to hide a laugh then schooled his face to seriousness. “They changed his character’s name to Buck Starkers?” Still listening, he put his desk phone on speaker and Steve could hear it dial and James’s machine pickup.

“Yeah, uh… It’s a sex farce. Like Barbarella.” Steve found himself repeating, then looked back at Tony.

The search and rescue captain shifted, putting his shoulders back and looking around airily. “I’m familiar with the work.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Then would you say it’s mean spirited?  You know, would you say it’s making fun of the actual plot or stuff in Carbon Star?”

Tony twisted his mouth and let his eyes cut down to Steve. “It’s ridiculous.” 

Steve gave this a withering look.

“There’s no hard science or politics in it!” Stark blustered. “They don’t pay any attention to the physics or biology of the dimensions and planets Barnes created — I mean, unless it helps them bump uglies in some wacky way—“

“Duh!” Steve huffed and threw up his hands. “It’s fan porn for fun!  Are you against gay sex?”

Now Tony was taken aback. “Do not try to turn this into some No Homo thing. I’m the one who’s read all his books.”

“Fine. So answer then!  Is it _mean_?” 

There was a long pause as Tony appeared locked in a wrestling match with all his better angels. “No.” He finally allowed with a huff.

“Do you think the people making it and the other fan stuff look down on James’s writing?”

Tony rolled his head back and groaned at the ceiling. “Noooo. God fine, no.  They love it and it’s clearly an outpouring of frustration that James doesn’t waste his published book pages with a lot of zero gravity sweaty man on spaceman action.  That doesn’t change the fact that Barnes’s experience with the fandom community has been fucking traumatic for him. He’s not built to navigate this crap.  And if you people didn’t poop out stuff like this at a hell bent pace, maybe those of us who like the actual work wouldn’t have to worry about you BREAKING the goddamned author.”

Steve glared at Tony in shock, then slowly exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands.  “Oh my god. Please shut up. Please. You sound like a human Reddit thread.”

Tony snorted. “Fucking Tumblrina.”

“Gentlemen,” Sam cut in, holding one can of his radio headset to an ear, “If this were a rom-com the two of you would hate fuck about now.  While you two argued, I’ve called a jillion times and tried the radio. Even let Scott blare the emergency broadcast tone a couple times — you know he loves that.  Anyway, no answer. Field crew just radio’d to say his truck’s there though.”

Stark huffed and stood. “Get up.” He smacked Steve’s shoulder. 

“And where are you going?” Sam looked doubtfully at Tony.

“Never let Park Service’s do a Search and Rescue crew’s job.” 

At this, Steve shoved the crutch in his armpit and gathered up his bag.

Sam leaned back, unimpressed. “So what? So you know where he is. I don’t think he’s exactly gonna answer the door right now.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Tony scoffed. “We have the Jaws of Life.”

 

……………………………

 

Maria was not his therapist. Nor was she his friend-friend. She was a publicist — not even just his publicist, but a paid employee of Serval Books, so probably… lots of people’s publicist? And yet…

Barnes was curled on his bed in the cabin loft, Deedee in his arms, slotted against his torso like a body pillow and Turk laying over his hips and legs.  Downstairs, he heard the landline ring and go to machine a dozen times, but he didn’t move.  In his head he was sure he looked like the most ridiculous version of a histrionic teenager, but the thought only added to the negative litany in his head, and he burrowed into the nest of mattress and furry dog even deeper.

It would be a bad idea to call Maria, he thought, even though she was the only one who knew what had happened before. Was likely the only person who would understand why he felt so ripped up, shaky and worthless now.  _I’m so fucking stupid._

_Normal people don’t do this. Normal guys know when to just fool around. Why’d you have to drag it out like it would go somewhere?_

And then there was the part of his brain that felt cursed. The nasty part that looked for patterns, told him it was Brock all over again.  Wondered why this was happening _again_ and decided the common denominator was _him_.  

Or was it?

Was he being fair?  

It wasn’t really the same, was it? Was there anything Steve had done that felt rude or mean or creepy? Or even like he was the sort of person that would enjoy or laugh at catty things like a lot of men Barnes had met?  He couldn’t think of even a moment like that.  He’d seemed so sweet…

“Maria?”

Oh shit. Apparently he was going to call Hill. How desperate was that?

There was a pause on the phone line and James thought he could hear a parrot maybe, squawking in the background. “James.  It is 8 am on a Saturday and we had our scheduled meeting two days ago. I’m guessing it’s an emergency of some kind? Physical or personal?”

Barnes blinked, some part of his brain registering that if it were 8 am her time, Maria could not possibly be in New York, and yet she still answered the phone. “Personal.”

“Understood. So do you need me to talk you up or down?”

He considered, some clarity being provided by her bluntness. “Ah, down I think?  Do you remember when we talked about social media and online presence?”

 

………………………………

 

 

“Barnes? Barnes! BARNES!” Tony roared, banging on the cabin door. “Open up! I have a fire axe, a hangover and probable cause for a wellness check!”

Steve hid his face in his hands, then leaned forward awkwardly and pressed the doorbell.

Instantly inside there was thudding, whining and…   …yodeling?

“Deedee and Turk.” Stark told Steve seeing his expression. “I know. Sounds like werewolves ate the Swiss Miss.” The yodeling was followed by a jolt and scrape of claws hitting the door. Steve flinched but held his ground.

“Barnes? You better be behind those dogs!” Tony leaned over the porch rail trying to peer in the closest window.

“James? Please answer the—“

The door opened a crack, revealing two eager dog snouts and James frowning out at them.

“Tony.”

“Barnes.”

Glancing down at Stark’s companion shivering in peppermint striped flannel pj bottoms,  James flinched and softened. “Steve.”

“Can we talk? Please?”

“Yeah, okay. Lemme grab these idiots.”

 

Once inside, the dogs circled Tony and Steve, wriggling, wagging and snuffling. Deedee danced, overjoyed at Steve and leaned on him whining, until Stark grabbed her and helped him replant his crutch before he fell.

“James? Tony, uh, told me what happened in Brooklyn. With Shipwreck…”

Barnes glared in shock. “Stark?”

“Yeah, surprise.” Tony coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, Nice to meet you, biggest fan, and oh gosh look at the time why don’t I walk these ravening beasts while you two talk it out. Sound good? Great! ‘Kay. Bye!”

And he was out the door, dogs in tow.

In Steve’s eyes, James looked less surprised by this vanishing act than by having Steve physically in his entryway.

“Could we talk?” Rogers asked softly.

“Yeah. Uh, I was… I think we should.” James shuffled back to make room and gestured to his breakfast table.

 

 

 

“Well c’mon.  The book was all on the forward momentum, you know?  Like an action movie, where everything is about figuring out the intrigue and fighting or escaping the enemy?  And when it’s not, it’s science and politics — really serious stuff.”

To Barnes credit, he was able to listen this time. Partially due to a reality check from Maria, partly due to the fascination to find out Stark was a top dog in his fan base, but mostly because every part of him was screaming that he’d been unfair to the person he’d felt the most connected with and giddy about since he left Brooklyn.

Now they were hip deep in Steve trying to explain non-Shipwreck related fan fiction to him — which was surreal to say the least.

“So they make fun of that?”

“No!  Not like that. I mean, some of the stories are humorous, sure. But it’s because they want the character to have some funny moments that aren’t in the books.”

James frowned and saw Steve’s face fall as he swallowed and tried again.

“I wish you’d read just one. When Stark told me what happened. I swear, I thought he was gonna deck me… And after something like that, this probably seems like some ironic punishment outa the Twilight Zone. But I’m serious.  Fanfic is like when readers love something so much, they want the gaps filled in.  Like in your book, Starkweather is so busy with his missions, you never see him eat breakfast or kiss his boyfriend since it doesn’t serve the plot — but fan writers want to see that too, so they write those bits.”

“People write stories about my character eating breakfast?”

“Scrambled klatuu eggs and Flaky-O’s”

“But a sex farce?”

“He’s a dashing gay space explorer. I mean…” Steve grimaced and held his palms up helplessly.

“Okay, yeah. Point taken.”

“He’s sort of perfect for it? Like James Bond or Captain America, being all steadfast and unfaltering. The fan fic people love him and they’re just having some fun.  Besides, it’s flattering — like if Weird Al wanted to do your hit song?”

James nodded. “And you read this comic?”

“It was for a spin off story for the comic… it wasn’t illustrated.”

Barnes blinked. “Fan fiction of a fan fiction?”

“Yeah, uh, it can get deep. And I sorta had to read it to do the commission.  And comics read fast. But it was really fun.” Steve brightened reaching for his phone.  “Look, I’ll see if I can find it for you…”

“That’s okay.” Barnes shook his head. “I saw the pinup. I get the gist.”

Steve deflated again at this. “I really don’t want you to think it’s mean spirited. People don’t make stuff for free if they don’t love it.”

Looking at the smaller man’s ernest frown, James thought about how long he’d worked on building the universe and writing the first book.  It hadn’t mattered to him then if it ever paid off. The work fed something personal that satisfied beyond a check. And he thought about his gut reaction to the pin up drawing, before he knew who it was meant to be.  It was fun — cute and hot as hell. It made him excited to meet Steve…

“I always liked Barbarella.” He allowed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” James leveled his gaze at Steve, considering him slowly.

The smaller man swallowed, trying not to look down or away. “I wanted to apologize, but…”

“No, I’m sorry.” James shook his head, still holding Steve’s eye carefully. “It was a knee jerk reaction —I should’ve stayed and talked to you.”  Curiously, he found himself putting a finger under Steve chin, tilting his face up into the light. The smaller man’s eyes were red-rimmed. Puffy.

Blushing, Steve swallowed, but didn’t move until James took his hand away.  “I like you a lot. I know this — all this was just a vacation — but I couldn’t help it. Other guys around me are all about the paycheck - they go a mile a minute - I know the drill, and it can be fun, but… I don’t know James. We don’t know each other that well, but I can’t help it — I…” A fresh tear spilled out.

James surged forward, gathering Steve to him and the smaller man tucked his face into his neck, shaking.

“I’ve been arguing with myself about it too.” Barnes murmured into the sniffing, trembling lump he held. “Y’know. Set expectations. Be realistic — all that.  Not everyone invites you to spoon on a first date.”

Steve pulled back to look at him, wiping his face. “They don’t?” He hiccuped.

“Oddly enough, no. S’really weird.”

“G-good to know my moves are still original.”

“Definitely.  I mean, I usually have to settle for a roller blade accident call to pick up a guy of your caliber.”

“I guess avalanches and lost hikers are thin on the vine in New York?”

“Avalanches at least.” James let his fingers trace away the tear tracks on Steve’s face. Those were his. _For him._ And worse, because of him. He’d hurt Steve because of something Brock did. Because of his anxiety. “I-I like you a lot too.”

Steve’s face, looking up at him, fell open. “Yeah?” He asked softly.

“Yeah. Maybe we could… I Skype with New York from Celeste all the time, and I do several stops in San Francisco when a book comes out.”

Steve was grinning. “I swear I won’t take you anywhere near The BookSmith.”

Barnes rolled his shoulders and sniffed awkwardly. “I’ve been. Just not on Shipwreck nights. My publicist called it exposure therapy. S’okay.” He smirked.

Beaming, Steve kissed his cheek. 

“And if you wanted to come back here — when you’re leg’s better — I could take you to the falls.”

 

 

Epilogue: A year later

 

It was strange to think October was one of the hottest months in the bay area.  Still, hot was relative, James thought, guessing it was maybe 70 degrees out as the afternoon fog was beginning to roll in, onto the beach, it’s soft cool touch on his cheeks.

Ahead of him, the dogs ran, making one of their big oval circuits around him as they bounded, torn between staying with him and following Steve into the waves.

Cold froth-rimmed salt water ran over Barnes feet and he flinched and smiled, squinting out into the surf.

Steve’s body was lithe. Slim but finely muscled and strong. A swimmer’s body, James noted, no doubt, watching him in his wetsuit, surfboard under his arm on the grey northern Cali beach. Steve jogged into the water, no trace of a limp, and waved wide at James, who waved back. James was a fair swimmer, but he doubted he could mount or pop up on a board — no matter what Steve said about teaching him.  Things that took grace or balance like that made him self conscious, and he imagined he could manage them about as well as he could dance Swan Lake or walk a tight rope.

Oh, but he loved to watch. Let him wade in, like a shaggy bear paddling after salmon, and just enjoy seeing Steve easily coast down the constant waves… That was enough. That was fine.

Steve whooped at him from over the crash of the water as he rode a small one in, horsing around. It barely had enough momentum for him to catch, and he wobbled trying to keep balance as it carried him into the shallows. The dogs bawled happily and leaped after him, overjoyed he was back in mauling range.

Yeah, it was good he’d come here.

And maybe he’d give surfing a try…

Tonight they’d go back to Steve and Clint’s apartment, tired and hungry and order takeout after a hot shower took off the beach chill, then curl up together in warm dry blankets. Maybe chase the dogs around with a blow drier… Who knew?

Would he move out here?  Would Steve split his time at the cabin?  Did he want to do something about the occasional homesickness he felt for New York?  He couldn’t say. Possibilities spread out before him like the vast expanse of interstellar space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shitake I FINISHED ONE!  
> Is it good? Is it bad? I HAVE NO IDEA BUT IT'S DONE! One WIP down, uh, two more to go?  
> Seriously, I have an astronomical amount of busy work to do for work and I signed up to be an artist on the Big Bang which will start later this month, and due to Tumblr/Pillowfort being ghosttowns, idk what I'm even doing with this fandom -- but I finished this!
> 
> Also, Buck Starkers is an actual thing. On a long road trip, my friend Joey and I started making up a story that was a sexy spaceman. A friend of ours had showed us old Buck Rogers serials from his film collection, which we could not stop laughing about, ("Buck! Buck! The tube is bent and the rocket won't come out!") and both of us grew up loving Barbarella, so between Georgia and central Texas we had an entire space romp cast with Ryan Reynolds as Buck Starkers, plus a full crew with bad sex pun names like "Roman Moorecock" all just to make each other laugh. Fast forward a few years to me still being obsessed with movies and studying screen writing and I ended up writing it into an actual feature length script for practice. To this day, only Joey has read it --lol. Anyway, with the whole cross over of the names 'Bucanan' and 'Stark' it was just too easy to recycle. :)


End file.
